


Traitor

by ed_anyeros



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Bratva AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ed_anyeros/pseuds/ed_anyeros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you feel better about following me to the house now?”</p><p>“No,” Felicity shook her head, “I really, really don't.” I don't trust the Bratva, so I don't trust you, and I certainly don't trust your boss. </p><p>“Ok,” Digg scooted out from his side of the booth, “How about I follow you home, make sure you get in alright, and tomorrow I'll take you for breakfast and we'll talk some more about it? You can sleep on it? Right?”</p><p>“Mr. Diggle, while I appreciate the offer I don't think this is really nec-”</p><p>“Your mother thought it was,” Diggle tossed the last of their trash into a bin by the door. “She thought it was necessary enough to call in a favor.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my NaNoWriMo project for this year, (you mean EVERYONE didn't write Bratva Arrow AUs?!) so it's a done story. I figure I'll be updating about once a week until it's all up. 
> 
> I'm new to posting on Ao3 so if I've missed a tag, or a warning, let me know.
> 
> Also (in the interest of full disclosure) I'm only half way through season 2 of Arrow on netflix, so I fully expect this to be jossed already. Well, what can you do?

Donna shuffled nervously from foot to foot. Maybe the heels were a bad idea. She liked the confidence they gave her, and boy did she need that now. She hadn't seen anyone in the Brat- _NO, the Organization_ , she corrected herself. _Do not think of them as family!_ -not since the death of her Mel twenty years ago. 

She hadn't wanted them, the Russians. Hadn't needed them. Donna shifted her gaze, glancing between the warning texted to her phone yesterday, to the heavy double doors at the end of the marble lined hall. 

The private office. 

She had to do this. Whatever she could for her baby. Her sweet Felicity. 

Dmitri would have gone to his grave betting on never laying eyes on Donna Smoak ever again. Good thing he started in collections, and not dice games.

“To what do I owe this pleasure Mrs. Smoak.”

“Owe is the right word Dmitri.” She slid her phone across the highly polished table to his Sovietnik before sitting down. Never pass anything directly to the Pakhan. “It's my girl, she was only four when,” Donna swallowed thickly, “when Mel-,” she sniffed bringing a shaky hand to her mouth.

“I remember.” Dmitri signaled a guard to give Mrs. Smoak a glass of water with one hand while taking her cell phone from his associate with the other. He gave her a minute to collect herself and sip her drink while he read over the texts on her cell phone. “I see,” he said grimly scrolling back and forth through the exchange, “Your girl, where is she now? Still in Las Vegas?”

“No,” Donna replied setting the glass down on the edge of the mahogany conference table, “No she's in Starling now. Close to her brothers.”

“Her brothers,”he glanced back at the phone on the table between them, “of course.” He steepled his hands under his chin and turned to the glittering lights of Las Vegas spread out before him. “There is a new Captain in Starling now. One of the old four finally retired.” Dmitri turned back to Donna with a sad smile, surveying her as she fiddled with her purse strap. “We are all getting to retirement age now, aren't we Donna?” 

She nodded and swallowed. Not trusting her voice.

“He's young and fast.” Dmitri continued shifting his attention back to the window, “Hungry to prove himself. I'll send him this.” His calloused finger flicked the edge of Donna's cell phone spinning it in a wobbly circle. “He will handle this.”

Donna picked up her cell and hugged it to her chest, like a proxy for her child, and smiled in relief. “Thank you so much, sir. I knew coming here was the right thing to-” 

Dmitri gestured again to his guard who gently grabbed Mrs. Smoak by the elbow before steering her to the door, down the hall, and out of his building. The widows were always so tiring. 

“Sending this to the иностранец?” his Sovietnik asked, when the echos of her clicking heels could no longer be heard, the doubt clear in his voice.

“Yes,” Dmitri said still gazing across the city. His city. “Yes, I think that's for the best.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“-others, ok? You'll be safe now,” came the static-y voice over the phone, “just do.......you'll be alright!”

“What?” said Felicity, more exasperated than irritated, “Mom-MOM you are super breaking up right now. I can, seriously, barely hear you!”

More static”-your told, alright?”

“Mom!! Mom!” Felicity ducked her head to avoid an AC duct and continued to dart forward, juggling a messenger bag, two folders, her keys, and the phone jammed between her ear and shoulder. Trying desperately to not eat the blond wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail. 

“-are you, anyway?”

“I'm in a parking garage. I'm headed to my car, I just got off work.” Her phone clicked twice. 

Disconnected. 

She was shuffling the keys into her pocket, and folders in to her messenger bag, so she could get her hair out of her mouth, and get the phone into her hand without dropping it on the floor of the parking garage, which (in her defense) is why she didn't notice the giant man she just ran (like literally ran) straight into.

It was only his quick (and giant) hand steadying her shoulder and plucking her phone out of her finger tips that they both (her and phone) didn't end up shattered on the concrete. 

Felicity immediately jumped back a step and threw her arms into the 'hands up' position. “You can keep the phone,” she blurted out.

The man rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, placing the cell back in her hand. “Just because I'm a black man doesn't mean I'm going to rob you.”

Felicity blinked twice. Once at the tech in her hand and once at the (very nicely dressed) man she'd crashed into. “I'm sorry,” she said frowning, “I don't know why I said that. You don't look like a mugger, you look like a banker.”

“Really?” the man said, smiling, “I should look like a body guard.”

“Seriously?,”Felicity enthused, taking a step in, “Do you know famous people? I bet you totally know famous people! Are you body-guarding right now? Oh my God! I bet it's someone I've heard of!”

“You're right,” the man said, “It is someone you've heard of, Ms. Smoak. I'm body guarding you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John Diggle. The nicely dressed businessman/banker/body guard had grinned boyishly at her and said, “But you can call me Digg.”

“So my mother,” Felicity said around a mouthful of fries, “thinks my life is in danger, and has hired me a body guard?”

“Nope,” replied Digg after taking a long pull off his milkshake. “You're mom talked to a Mr. Golitsyn, and he-”

“Dmitri? Dmitri Golitsyn?” Felicity leaned across the table dropping her voice. “Do you know who he is? Should we be talking about this in public?”

“Yeah,” John slurped up the last of his shake, “I do know who Mr. Golitsyn is.”

Felicity tilted her head to the side and swallowed another mouthful of fries. “Are you Russian?”

Diggle snort-laughed and started unwrapping his burger. “No,” he said shaking his head, “No, I am most definitely not.”

“Well, then how did you-”

“My employer,” Diggle said, his tone turning low and serious, “is employed by Mr. Golitsyn.”

“Oh,” Felicity slumped back into the corner of the booth, “so was my father.”

“Well, apparently now your mother-”

“No,” Felicity interrupted, “this doesn't sound a thing like my mother. She doesn't want anything to do with,” she gestured helplessly in front of herself, “with the family. Never.”

“Well,” Digg started, smiling diplomatically, “this is where we are now. So, you'll just come with me to by boss' house, camp out for a few days, and we'll wait for this all to blow over.”

“No way. I have a job. I have a.... semblance of a social life. I'm not going into hiding.” _I promised my family._ “I don't even know who your boss is!”

“I work for Mr. Queen.”

“Mr. Queen?” Felicity didn't mean for his name to come out like a question, but here we are.

Diggle's brow creased in confusion. “Mr. Queen, Ms. Smoak, I'm sure you've heard of him?”

Felicity shook her head as if to clear it, “The only Mr. Queen I've heard of is the recently returned from the dead one. Not in a zombie-gross way but in a Swiss-Family-Robinson-Except-In-The-Second-Circle-of-Hell way.”

“That would be him,” John bit out around a mouthful of burger.

Felicity tilted her head to the other side. “Is he Russian?”

Diggle nearly choked around his bite. “No, Ms. Smoak, I'm pretty sure he isn't either.”

“But he's associated with the Bratva?”

“He's not associated with it, he's in it.”

“As what, though? Low level enforcer?”

Diggle smiled again, “Captain.”

“Let me get this straight,” Felicity paused dramatically to sip her soda, “an _American_ WASP playboy was shipwrecked for years on a deserted island off the coast of _China,_ and has somehow become a Captain in the _Russian_ Mafia.”

Digg licked the last of his ketchup and salt off his fingers. “Yep.”

“And you,” Felicity gestured with another fry, “work for the non-Russian, shipwrecked, miracle, Bratva Captain?”

“Yep,” Diggle wiped his hands and threw his napkin into his burger basket.

Felicity opened her mouth, once, twice, before clicking it shut again.

“Don't you want to know?” Diggle asked, his eyebrow arched.

“No, no I really don't. Some people should get to keep their secrets.”

“Do you feel better about following me to the house now?”

“No,” Felicity shook her head, “I really, really don't.” _I don't trust the Bratva, so I don't trust you, and I certainly don't trust your boss_. 

“Ok,” Digg scooted out from his side of the booth, “How about I follow you home, make sure you get in alright, and tomorrow I'll take you for breakfast and we'll talk some more about it? You can sleep on it? Right?”

“Mr. Diggle, while I appreciate the offer I don't think this is really nec-”

“Your mother thought it was,” Diggle tossed the last of their trash into a bin by the door. “She thought it was necessary enough to call in a favor.”

Felicity sucked in a breath. “Ok,” she said on the exhale, “Ok, breakfast tomorrow.”

By the time Diggle had followed Ms. Smoak through city traffic, escorted her from where she had parked her car around the corner, to the front of her building, up all four flights of stairs to her front door, and had then done a quick sweep of her tiny studio, he was done. Done with her protesting, with her apologies, and with her obvious embarrassment of having him in her home. 

He pulled the town-car further down the block and away from streetlamps but still with a good sight-line to both the front of the building and her fire escape. He briefly debated calling Roy and having him drive in another, more inconspicuous, car for him to sit in all night. He'd picked the Mercedes for his own personal comfort but it wouldn't be good for a known Bratva associate to be seen this close to China Town. 

He scrubbed his hands roughly across his face and sighed. Might as well call Oliver. If the burger didn't give him indigestion, this phone call probably would. He sighed again before running his thumb quickly over the surface of his cell. 

“John, how goes your mission?”

Mission, great. Oliver was like a dog with a bone when he got in these moods. “Not well. She-” Digg closed his eyes, and tipped his head back, searching in his vocabulary for the nicest way to put it, “she balked at the idea of coming to the house with me. So I'm camped down the street waiting to see if anything happens.”

“Why are you down the street? Anything could happen.” He could hear Oliver's agitation mounting through the phone. “How long would it take you to get to her if something were to happen? You should be as close to her as possible! I gave my word on this John! She is your priority! Your one-”

“I don't think I should be parked that close to China Town, Mr. Queen.” Diggle interrupted.

That brought him up short. “What?”

“She lives on Green St. just a few blocks from the highway. If I parked in front of her place in this car? If I was seen near her building?”

“The Triad would take it as an act of war.” Oliver was silent, all the way to a count of ten. “You need to get her out of there. These threats against her well being are credible. Get her to the house immediately.”

“I'm meeting up with her again tomorrow for breakfast to see if I can convince her.”

“Did you tell her that this comes straight from Mr. Golitsyn?”

“Yep. And she doesn't seem to care. She grew up around this, Oliver. She called him 'Dmitri'. I don't think a name drop is going to phase her.”

He could hear Oliver's teeth grinding through the phone, “I don't know what they're playing at, but she's here tomorrow, John. No options.”

~*~*~*~*~*~  
“Mmmm, pancakes,” Felicity cooed, “I never eat like this on weekdays.”

“Really?” asked Digg, “Why?”

“Lazy, I guess,” she played with the menu on the Formica tabletop before neatly folding her hands around her coffee mug. She'd been riding a rough edge all night. Talking with Digg had stirred up a lot of old (bad) memories. “I'm the 'run into the office, bagel in the mouth, straight to the server room' kinda girl.”

“Do you like it?” Digg asked, sipping at his coffee, “The work you do?”

“Parts of it yeah.” Her hands gripped the mug tighter. She was grateful for his conversation. She was hopeful it would pull her away from the thoughts that had chased her last night into her dreams, squish them down under diner food and superficial company. “The computer part, the information part? I like it, and I'm good at it. The accounting part? Not so much.”

“How did you end up working with a bunch of accountants anyway?”

Felicity shrugged, a sad smile playing at the corners of her mouth, the dark thoughts creeping closer to the surface. “I needed something stable.”

“Being an accountant seems pretty stable.”

“Yeah, but I'm not any good at that. What I'm good at is computers. And I needed to be local, for my family. My brothers still rely on me in big way.” 

Felicity closed her eyes, sliding into her earliest memory of her brothers. Their matching black suits at her father's funeral. Their little boy faces trying to be stoic but crumpling in tears. She saw her own tiny hands reach out to pat the lid of the closed coffin. 'Bye-bye Daddy. Have a nice sleep.' She startled and yanked her eyes open when her small trembling hand was engulfed in a friendly squeeze from Digg's warm and large one.

“Hey, are you here yet?” His brown eyes scanning her face. “You looked like you went away there for a minute.”

Felicity nodded, her voice getting caught in her throat behind twenty years of unshed tears.

“I don't get my jollies from scaring office workers, Ms. Smoak, and I know there should probably be some more pleasantries, and obviously a lot more breakfast before we get into this, but you need to know,” Diggle's face had taken on a earnest quality that Felicity hadn't seen on anyone in a long time, “These threats are credible, and your life is in danger.”

Felicity nodded hurriedly, hoping he understood her fear. How close to the edge she was all the time. Her closely held desire to feel safe again. _To be out from under their thumb._ She took a gasping breath and pinched he lips together, squeezed her eyes tight, hoping the physical pain would distract her from the emotional pain. 

The images still washed over her. It was always hard to stop them, once they started. Fading from her father's funeral to her mother flinging herself into Dmitri's arms when he arrived at the house that morning with the news. The talk around the coffin, 'It has to be closed casket... _you know_.' And then later, her brothers, _her brothers_. 

“Ms. Smoak, MS. SMOAK!” Diggle's hand was on her shoulder now shaking her gently.

“My mother,” Felicity gasped out, “is she going to be... I mean, should I go to her?”

“I don't think that's advisable,” John said, “If it was just a matter of getting you to Vegas, she would have just called you with a plane ticket. It's been suggested you stay out of contact for the interim. We know you don't call her often, and we want to stay as close to your routine as possible.”

“Ok,” Felicity said, more to herself than her companion. Willing her heart rate to slow, her breathing to even out, “Ok, I get home usually a little before six. I can meet you at my place. But I have to be back by Monday. My freelance projects are pretty flexible, but the nine to five gig isn't.”

“Absolutely,” Digg's smile was beatific, “Six at your place.”

Felicity smiled a little, squeezing his fingers gently before easing her hand back into her lap. 

The weight in her stomach had eased just in time. Pancakes were here.

“Do you usually work so late?”

“What?” Felicity asked, half distracted by proper syrup distribution.

“I met you in the parking garage yesterday at five, you said you wouldn't be home today until nearly six.”

“Nope,” Felicity said gesturing with her butter knife, “I don't generally drive, I usually take the bus. Cheaper.”

“You have a one hour bus commute?”

“No of course not!” she said, laughing, “Forty minutes on the bus and a twenty minute walk.”

“There has to be apartments closer to where you work.”

“I don't mind walking. I like the fresh air.” _I promised._

“I don't think 'three blocks away from the highway' is what most people would associate with fresh anything.”

Felicity dropped her fork to the edge of her plate, “My brothers, they know a guy, Tommy Johns, and he knows the guy who owns the building. They got me in the building as a favor.”

Diggle's mouth dropped open in disbelief, “They got you into _that_ building as a _favor?_ ”

“It makes them happy that I'm there.”

“Who, the landlord? I'm sure it does.”

She swallowed another bite of pancake, “No, my brothers. And if it makes them happy for me to live there, then I am happy to do it.”

Diggle's mouth snapped shut with a click, head shaking slightly. “You must be on the road to sainthood.”

Felicity had to laugh at that. “Jews don't have saints, John.”

~*~*~*~*~*

Police Transcript 10.1002.41  
Location of Subjects: Blue Four Door Sedan Parked in Lot of Gas Station 1900 block of S 56th St.  
Police Location: Surveillance Van #4 225 ft S.E of subjects location  
Subjects Identity: Unknown Triad Associate “Alex”: Unknown Triad Associate “Eli”

Alex: Xiang is going to kill us.

Eli: He won't. He wants the money.

Alex: We already gave him the money. 

Eli: That doesn't matter. Now he wants more money.

Alex: He'll always want more. First we owed him a thousand, we pay that. Now he says it's five.

Eli: We'll have to hit the bank for this.

Alex: Do you think that's-

Eli: What else is there?

*~*~*~*~*

God, of all the days to be late, why does it have to be today?

Of course, _of course_ she got hung up on the Davidson merger. She didn't know why she'd told Digg she'd be home by six. “It's got to be done by Monday,” her boss had said, “It's gonna be all hands on deck!” His hands had left the deck shortly after lunch. Her's, and everyone else in the proofing department, stayed until 5:30.

Felicity puffed out an irritated breath in the chilly night air and brought her chapped and freezing hands up to her mouth. 

And her mittens? MIA. _Of course they were_. What a day. 

She sprinted across the street, keeping a keen eye open for Mr. Diggle's car. She didn't see the big Mercedes lurking anywhere on her block and had her first easy breath in two hours. 

_Awesome. He's not here yet_.

Felicity waved to Mrs. Lee through the steamy ground floor shop window as she crossed under the store's striped awning. She stamped her boots against the stoop outside the building's main door. Both to ward the cold away and keep her blood pumping as she rummaged through her giant purse for her keys to the security door. “Dammit,” she muttered, “Not the keys,” as her fingers skipped over the edge of her phone (drained battery, ugh), “Also, not the keys,” as her fingers connected with her eye glasses case, “God, they're probably where ever my mittens are.” 

She would later blame the dim light in the vestibule for why she didn't see anyone on the other side of the (mostly glass) door. She would also blame the numbness in her toes for why she stumbled off the stoop when said door banged open from the inside revealing her brothers' friend, Mr. Johns.

“Why hello Ms. Smoak,” he said with a smile, stepping to the side to hold the door for her. “I trust you are well this evening.” The cool leather of his glove made brief contact with her lower back as her guided her past the threshold of the building.

“Yes, I'm fine. Thank you... sir,” she added hastily. She was always unsure how to act around this particular friend of her brothers'. All the rest were a little rough, but Tommy was always so polished, so professional. 

“And your brothers?” he prompted, “How are they?”

“They are well as... well.” Felicity pinched her lips together, and briefly closed her eyes. “I've got to be going, sir. I'm sorry, but it's been a very long week.”

“Of course,” he said in that silky voice. “Give them my best.”

“Will do.” 

Felicity dashed up the stairs to her apartment, past the flickering greenish bulb dangling in the hall and hastily unlocked scarred wooden door to her studio. She inhaled that first comforting breath of home. Vague dampness, old carpet, and dusty plaster. But it was overlaid with something different. Oil, and salt, and men's cologne, which could only mean...

“Mr. Diggle,” She said with a forced smile “I wasn't anticipating you being here. Well, that's not true, I was anticipating you here, just not _in_ here. In my apartment? That's not true either. I was not anticipating you in my apartment without me being in it as well. Which means you broke in?” Her voice rose on that last sentence. “Who let you in? This is a secure building!”

“No it isn't,” came a voice she wasn't familiar with, “I picked the outside door with a glasses screwdriver.”

“Well,” stuttered Felicity, unnerved at not one, but two people in her apartment, “it's the principle of the thing, it's-”

“Ms. Smoak,” Digg interrupted, “the principle of the thing isn't going to keep you safe, and neither is this building.”

“Great, now he's a comedian,” Felicity muttered, shoving her glasses up her nose, and tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

“I tried to call you, but you didn't answer. My associate, Mr. Harper, and I decided it was in the best interest of your well being to enter your abode without your permission.”

She blew out a long breath. “My phone died I can usually get home sooner to charge it, but tonight wasn't that night. I'm sorry.”

“Hey,” Diggle smiled and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, “there is no need for apologies. Roy and I were happy to wait.” Roy looked distinctly less than happy about waiting. “We'll get out of your way, so you can pack up and we can go, ok? Don't forget your phone charger.”

Felicity let out a (fairly undignified) snort-giggle. “Yeah, I certainly wouldn't want to forget that.”

The other man (Roy apparently) stood up from where he'd been lounging by her bed-nook, “Digg, there isn't any place to get out of her way too. Unless you want to wait in the hall?”

“The kitchen,” Felicity piped up, “pretty sure I'm not going to need anything from over there.”

“What kitchen?” Roy asked.

Felicity rolled her eyes, “That kitchen!” She pointed to one wall of her unit fully equipped with a mini-fridge, two cabinets, a hot plate and the tiniest bar sink the plumber had in the back of his van. 

“I'm almost positive,” Roy said shuffling towards the mini-fridge, “That this doesn't meet the legal code for a kitchen. Actually I'm pretty sure nothing in this apartment meets any code at all, ever. There isn't even a sink in the bathroom.”

“There's a sink in the kitchen,” Felicity shot back, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “How many sinks does one person need?”

“Are all the apartments in the building like this?” Digg asked.

Felicity glanced back over her shoulder, “I don't have any idea. There's only the three apartments in the building.”

She was fully focused on shoving clothes, chargers, and various bits of tech into her duffel bag or she would have notice the frown creasing John's face. “There's five floors. How big are these other two apartments?”

Felicity had ducked into the bathroom to (rather haphazardly) toss toiletries into her overnight bag. “The first floor is the Lee's store, the next two floors are all self storage units, the other unit on this floor is vacant, and I don't know who lives up stairs, but I never see them.”

She didn't, however, miss the look of surprise Roy shot to Diggle.

“I admit it!” she exclaimed throwing her hands into the air, “I am the terrible scourge of the renting class! I work long hours, and I don't know my neighbors!”

She tugged her mittens out form under her pillow (she'd forgotten she'd slept in them last night). And turned to the pair of men in her kitchen as she wound a second scarf around her neck. “Ok that's everything. Phones, check. Chargers, check. Tablet, check. I'm ready when you are. What are you doing to my window?” Her question was aimed at Roy, who was prying up the fire escape access just off her 'dining room'.

Diggle held her hand as he guided her out the window. “Whoever is after you needs to think you're sticking to your routine, and your Friday night routine is to stay in.”

“Right, so out the window it is.”

“Plus,” Roy called up to her from the ground (damn he was fast), “it wouldn't be good for Mr. Queen to be associated with this neighborhood.”

“I guess not,” Felicity said as she cast her eyes back over the half rotted windows and crumbling brick.

She tossed her duffel down to Roy before dropping from the bottom rung of the ladder to the pavement of the alley way below. She felt his hand against her elbow to steady her. “Thanks,” she said a genuine smile on her lips.

“Oh my God, look at that,” Diggle said in disbelief as he landed next to them, “Roy, she's another person you are taller than.” He passed his hand from the top of Felicity's head to the top of Roy's. “At least by like... half an inch.” Diggle smirked, placed his hand on the small of Felicity's back and began to escort her down the alley way.

“Dude!” Roy called out to their retreating forms, “Totally not fair! She's in _BOOTS!_ ”

Diggle's laugh followed them all the way down the alley to Billson Ave. where he'd parked the town car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian Translations (Via Google, not even going to pretend)
> 
> 1 foreigner


	2. Chapter 2

Felicity's first thought waking up the next morning was that her mattress had gotten miraculously less lumpy over night. Her second thought was, _What's that smell?_ But in a good, wholesome, pastry shop kind of a way and not the _Oh God! Could that be rats? Do rats even get that big? Could it be possums? Can possums even live in a city with no trees?_ kind of a way, which is what she was more accustomed too.

These thoughts were swiftly followed by, _Why am I looking up at the underside of a hanging sweater?_ before she remembered after several restless hours tossing and turning in the massive guest bed, she eventually ended up dragging sofa cushions and loose bedding into the closet and bunking down for the night. 

She hauled herself and her makeshift bed/nest back into the main room and tried to shove it into some semblance of order before someone (A place like this had servants right?) walked in and wondered what kind of weirdo would forsake the comfortably appointed guest suite to sleep on the closet floor.

That weirdo, in case you were curious, is Felicity Smoak.

Felicity cast her gaze around the space and shivered again. In the daytime the windows were bright and cheery openings. Inviting the eye to survey vast grounds and acres of tended woodland that surrounded the family estate. At night, however, they transformed into yawning pits of unfathomable terror. Even with curtains closed Felicity could always convince herself of the horror waiting just outside the thin barrier of a pane of glass. 

She slept in a windowless nook for a reason.

After reassembling the unmade bed. Is that even a thing? _To reassemble the bed would be to remake it. But this isn't remaking this is redepositing crumpled bedding on top of an already unmade bed? So would that be un-reass-- ok, three, two, one... never-mind._

She headed back into the closet to gather her clothes and toiletries so she could walk all the way back across the suite to the bathroom and finally get a shower. She was about to start rummaging through her bag when she jerked to a halt. 

_What do you wear when you are under house-arrest for the weekend in a billionaire's country manor?_ She glanced between the contents of her bag and the few things she'd hung up on one of the many clothes rods the night before. 

Her eyes traveled along the shelves and drawers lining the closet's walls, to the free standing mirror at the back, and hung behind the mirror was, _Holy shit! Is that a Renoir?_ Felicity crept closer to the painting, squinting and wishing she had her glasses on. 

_Ok, what do you wear when you are under house-arrest for the weekend in a billionaire's country manor, and they have a Renoir in the guest room closet?_

Felicity reached out and plucked her navy sweater off a padded silk hanger and snagged her jeans off the top of the duffel. _There probably isn't a right answer to a question like that._

She headed back across the plush area rug at the foot of the four poster bed, and finally, finally into the bathroom to shower and to (for realsies) start her day.

She draped her clothing over the heated chrome towel warmer (decked out in Egyptian cotton toweling so fluffy and thick if felt like fur) and turned on the shower to give the water a chance to heat up. 

While the bathroom should have been cold and impersonal. With it being all gray marble, white tile, and chrome fixtures. It instead felt like the rest of the house. Well, at least what she'd seen so far. Homey, understated, classic, and ridiculously, stupidly _super-luxe._

The water from the shower had already started steaming up the bathroom mirror before she'd even finished getting out of her pajamas. 

_There's probably a separate water heater for this floor, she mused, no there's probably a separate water heater for this wing. No, I bet there's a separate water heater for this ROOM. Maybe there's TWO? One for the shower and one for the sink_.

She stepped into the spray and let her mind drift while she went through her ablutions. She was just placing the conditioner bottle back on the marble ledge of the shower enclosure when two thoughts flitted through her mind. One: _I can't believe the ridiculousness of this 99 cent shampoo and conditioner set in this bathroom_ , and Two: _I can't believe I willingly entered the house of a Bratva Captain_.

She rested her head against the tile wall of the shower and let the (massaging, of course) shower-head work some of the sudden tension out of her back and shoulders. _Baba would be so disappointed in me_. 

Felicity turned off the shower, dressed in a hurry, and briefly debated blow-drying her hair as well as applying a light dusting of make up. She was shoving on a pair of ballet flats when the closet door caught her eye. _Nah_ , she mused, thinking about the Renoir, _probably not worth it_.

She scraped her hair back into a low (if damp) ponytail, before following the pastry shop scent out the door and down the hall. She followed it to the massive balcony, past the landing to an intersection with a smaller hall, and finally down a dark and narrow stairway before popping out in the middle of a bright, and thoroughly modern kitchen.

“Oh!” startled the woman with the icing bag and rows and rows of pastries, “You must be Miss Felicity!” _She says my name like Baba did_. 

“Are those blini?”

“Oh yes, my dear, they are. Jam and cream, plus honey and cheese.”

Felicity drifted closer to the enticing scent, “My grandmother used to make these for every Shavuot, these smell just like her's did.” _You sound just like her_. 

“Jewish then, hmmm?” the woman inquired, “Russian too?”

“My father was.”

“Do you speak it?” the woman asked.

“To my father? No he's dead.”

“No, Miss Felicity,” the woman continued, her eyebrows creeping into her hairline in surprise, “Do you speak Russian.”

“Umm, no,” Felicity twisted her fingers in the hem of her sweater, and bit her lip in embarrassment, “My mother isn't Russian, she doesn't speak it.”

“Oh, of course.” She nodded, and then she went right back to piping icing over the tops of the blinis like Felicity wasn't the most ridiculous person she'd ever met.

“I am so sorry,” Felicity said, her brow wrinkling in a frown, grasping at anything to cover the upsurge of anxiety she always felt when she tripped over her tongue like that, “I didn't even ask you your name. I just went straight for the treats. I'm not usually this impolite, I'm just such a sugar hound!”

“I am Raisa,” the woman said with a gentle smile that spoke of a life filled with demanding and strange people. “I have been with the family since the children were small.”

“Since the children were small?” Felicity echoed, _Was Mr. Queen married?_

“But now, we're not so small,” chirped a newcomer sweeping through the swinging double doors at the other end of the kitchen. She held out a hand to Felicity, “Thea Queen, younger, and much more lovable sibling, to Oliver.”

Felicity gripped her hand lightly, “It's a pleasure Miss Queen, I'm Felic-”

“I know who you are!” Thea patted her on the arm with a smile, “You've been the talk of this place for two days. And none of this Miss stuff either,” she scolded teasingly with a finger wag, “it's Thea.”

Thea then swept past her to throw a familiar arm around Raisa's shoulders as she was piping the last tray of blinis. “These look delicious, Raisa, you have really out-”

“No,” said Raisa, sliding past Thea to put the empty piping bag into the sink.

“No what?” Thea asked, her voice rising at the end.

“No blinis until after breakfast.”

“But blinis are breakfast.”

“You know the rules.”

The heavy door that lead to the drive way swung open to admit Roy. “Awesome, blinis!”

Raisa's head snapped up from where she was rinsing pastry tools in the sink and shot Roy the hairy eyeball. “What do you think you are doing?” Her voice was low and dangerous as his fingers almost connected with a still warm pastry.

Roy snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned, “Umm, I was going to have breakfast first?”

“That is correct,” Raisa said turning back to the sink. She nodded her head vaguely towards the circular table that had been set with empty plates and covered serving dishes. “Help yourself.”

She had directed her command at all three occupants of her kitchen.

Roy positioned himself with a view of the kitchen stairway Felicity had stumbled down, the double doors at the far end, as well as the door that lead to the outside. 

_I wonder if Roy's been conscripted into guard duty. I hope he isn't being kept from anything important._

Thea gracefully lowered herself into the seat next to him and leaned over for a (rather friendly) morning kiss. 

_I guess not._

Felicity took a chair opposite them. And revealed the first covered dish. “Mmm,” Roy said inhaling deeply, “pancakes.”

The dishing up and passing of plates was quiet. The only conversation was a murmured one between Thea and Roy. Little smiles and lingering gazes, soft touches and an intricate interpersonal choreography that spoke of a long term intimacy. And Felicity was simply stunned. She knew, logically, that Mr. Queen was not Russian, and that he hadn't grown up in this, with traditional Bratva values. But she was still a little surprised that his employee and his sister carried on (unwed) in his house. 

“So what is it that you do?” Thea inquired polity, lifting a serving of Eggs Benedict onto Roy's plate.

“I'm in IT. For a division at a holding company. I also do some freelance stuff, mostly writing code for small businesses.”

“Are you self taught or did you go to college?”

“A little of both. I graduated from MIT, but I stay current on my own.”

“And your family?” Raisa asked lowering herself into a seat half way between Felicity and Roy. 

“Um, my mother works for a casino in Vegas. She's in food and beverage.”

“And your father,” Raisa prompted, “before he passed?”

“He was in collections.” She made eye contact with the other diners at the table, and was relieved to see them nodding in understanding, grateful she wouldn't have to elaborate for them.

“And the family before them?”

Felicity smiled at Raisa's sweetly open and inquisitive face, “You mean in the Old Country?” she asked teasingly. When Raisa smiled and nodded, she continued, “My mother's father was a Kosher Butcher. My father's father was a watchmaker.” She glanced around again, but no one nodded in secret understanding. Sometimes a watchmaker was just a watchmaker. But sometimes a Bratva watchmaker built bombs. 

“What about you?” She technically asked this question to her plate, because that's where she was looking, but she was hoping someone would respond before her answers to Raisa's questions would drift too close to the subject of her brothers.

“Oh you know,” Thea said in a bored tone, “the Queens have been in the States for ages. All that Mayflower voyage, founding father, cotillion nonsense. I can tell you though, from personal experience, it's much better to be a Mafia Princess than a WASP with a DAR membership.” Thea stiffened her spine suddenly, gaping at Felicity, “Not that I-I'm making fun or the Bra-B- or princesses, but- it's you know-”

“I know,” Felicity said nodding solemnly, “It's dreadful to be a WASP. The hazing is terrible, all that Illuminati, Freemason, Skull and Bones rigmarole. Plus when you're a Mafia Princess, every major life event comes with an outpouring of love, affection, vodka, and cash.” Thea's posture relaxed minutely and Felicity sent her a smile around the rim of her coffee cup. 

“Well, whoever your family is,” Raisa said as she passed the honey to Roy, “it's always best to keep them close to your heart and in your thoughts.”

Felicity closed her eyes, her mind drifting back to her brothers and all their woes, her poor mother having to speak with Mr. Golitsyn. 

“Wouldn't you agree, Felicity?”

She lifted her head to nod at Roy, “I always have them on my mind.”

Raisa smiled, seemingly satisfied, “I could tell by looking at you that you were a good girl, loyal.”

Felicity pushed back from the table. “I don't mean to dine and dash, but this, umm weekend away came up rather suddenly. I have some work things I need to take care of.” She looked up at Roy, “I'm going to email my boss, something like -I don't know- like some brewing family emergency, and that I might not be in on Monday.”

“That's probably for the best.”

She shot a grin to Raisa, “Thank you for breakfast it was lovely.” She flicked her gaze to the couple across from her. “And it was also... lovely to meet you Thea. But if you'll excuse me...”

“Of course, of course,” Raisa said with a smile and shooed her up the staircase. 

Felicity made it all the way back to her guest room without getting lost once. Which she figured was a fairly impressive feat considering she didn't have delicious pastry scents to guide her anywhere. But just because she didn't get lost, doesn't mean she didn't get distracted.

She hadn't gone ten feet past the top of the stairs when she heard the distinct sound of a mattress creaking and a sharp inhale. She stopped, rooted to the spot, and not at the (obvious and rather lewd) implications behind the sounds of a bed squeaking and heavy breathing (that would come later) but because she was in a strange house full of dangerous felons. 

As much as part of her wanted to cast Mr. Diggle and his employer in the role of her saviors, a large and insistent part of her brain knew they were Bratva, and Bratva men were criminals. She couldn't help but wonder about this mysterious threat and know that she couldn't see every piece of the chess set in play. Sometimes it felt like she couldn't even see the board. So, felicity froze. Apparently lacking enough sense for fight or flight. 

Through the crack in the door to her right she saw a human shape roll over under the layers of sheets and blankets. The man (apparently) sat up on a deep exhale. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the muscles of his shoulders bunch and flex as he ran his hands through his cropped hair and then down his face to briefly press his finger tips into his eye sockets before turning to the edge of the bed and levering himself off of it.

 _Oh god, what if he comes out here and catches me?_ But still she couldn't convince her feet to move.

After she heard the shower start she was able to regain control of her legs and propel herself forward. And it wasn't until she was behind the locked door of her guest suite that she had two important realizations. _How could he have survived what ever gave him all those scars?_ And then, _Captain's tattoos are more intricate than I thought they would be._

Six hours later Felicity could check off everything on her to do list. She had e-mailed her supervisor, _I'm so sorry for the short notice Heather, but I got a call Thursday from my mother about a family emergency, and I'm not going to be making it in on Monday. I'm working remotely today and tomorrow and hopefully that will help lessen the impact of my unexpected absence._ She'd wrapped up two freelance projects, finally teased out the last relevant data from the Davidson merger, and had a lovey three text conversation with her mother.

_Are you OK, F? Are you with friends?_

_Yes Mom, I've done as you've asked._

_I'm so glad._

So now, she was sitting cross-legged in front of the cream sofa, chewing on her thumb nail, and wondering what to do with the rest of her weekend. That question was answered by a knock at her door.

“Hi!” Thea said breathlessly, “I don't mean to barge in, but it's after two now. I thought you might want a little late lunch, maybe?”

“Oh, yeah,” Felicity looked at the grandfather clock in the corner, “I hadn't realized it had gotten so late, food sounds awesome.”

“Great, grab your shoes, we're eating in the sun-room.”

“The sun-room?” Felicity called to her retreating form, “It's the middle of winter.”

She could practically hear the eye-roll in Thea's response, “It's heated.”

Five minutes later the pair were ensconced at a wrought iron bistro table under a canopy of potted palms. The air was humid, and fragrant, and warm. Felicity figured it was as close to the tropics as she was ever likely to get. 

“Ugh,” Thea unrolled her silverware and placed the napkin across her lap, “I hope I'm not bothering you, and I feel like such a cliche for saying it, but it is so _nice_ having another woman in the house. Since Mom and Walter retired permanently to the country house, it's just me and Raisa against the world. But lately with the club and Ollie's business associates in and out at all hours... You might not have wanted to be here, but I'm really glad you are.”

Felicity took a sip of her water, _mmm... sparkling_. “I know, trust me. Tech is a very male dominated field. Less than it used to be for sure, but nothing close to 50/50. There's three women in my department and some of the guys act like they're being invaded.”

“It's like that at Verdant too. Some of my vendors have shown up, looked me up and down, and then asked to speak with my boss. One guy, looked _past_ me to talk to Roy when it was very clearly my name on the bottom of his check. I know Economics 101 says to find the lowest supply price, but I happily pay $5000 more a year for someone who will look me in the face.”

“Wow, that's a lot.”

“What, five grand? I know it's a lot for some people, but you've got a steady job and-”

“I've also got a lot of bills.”

“Well, you did go to MIT, that's a seriously expensive education.”

Felicity swallowed and sipped her water, “Scholarship.”

“But still, room and board-”

“Full ride.”

Thea gaped openly, “What on earth are you doing at Stellmoor?”

“Running algorithms in the proofing department for one of the acquisitions teams. How did you know I worked for Stellmoor?”

“Digg mentioned it yesterday at lunch.”

“Do you spend a lot of time with them? With Mr. Diggle and the... others?”

“Not really. I wish I was here more. I swear sometimes I only see people if we happen to be in the same place when food shows up and then we linger long enough to eat.”

Felicity couldn't hold back her giggle.

“Share with the class?” Thea smirked.

“It's just,” Felicity hesitated for a brief second before barreling on, “I just realized it's the same for me. The only time I've spent with anyone I don't work with in the last week has involved food. Dinner and then breakfast with Digg. Then breakfast and now lunch with you.”

“Good Lord,” Thea downed the last of her water, “You make us sound like a bunch of gluttons!”

“Oh no,” Felicity backtracked putting her hands up in a gesture of inoffence, “it's not that I just-”

“I know,” Thea interrupted, “but it's still true. We should do something else. Something relaxing, and just for us girls.”

“Are- are you propositioning me?,” Felicity stuttered out, “You are very nice, and definitely super pretty, but I'm not-”

“I meant mani-pedis.”

“Oh, of course,” she could feel her cheeks heating.

“You don't spend a lot of time around other women, do you? I don't mean specifically at work, just in general.”

“No,” Felicity said, “not really.”

“No big sisters? No pre-teen sleepovers?”

“I have brothers, and my mom never trusted anyone enough for...”

Thea gave her a sympathetic smile, “Well, we are having one now.”

“What, sisters?”

“No, a sleepover.” Thea pulled Felicity to her feet and dragged her back into the main part of house. “Mani-pedis, followed by terrible movie watching, followed by pizza, I need this too. We'll get Raisa up to my room and slather our faces with avocado and olive oil.”

Thea's plan making continued across the library, and foyer. And Felicity didn't get in a single word of protest as Thea dragged her up the stairs. 

They never noticed someone listening from the darkened dining-room. 

Digg strode across the house to the study where Oliver had his base of operations while he was at the estate. 

Diggle dropped into the leather chair across from the massive oak desk and waited for Oliver to get off the phone.

“Of course,” Oliver had his Fake Polite smile on. That never boded well for anyone, most especially if you were Digg. “I'll have the accounts and the wire transfers looked into immediately, I promise you this is now my top priority. Thank you for alerting me to this situation. I'll keep you posted as it develops.”

He certainly didn't sound like a guy on an FBI watch list. He sounded like a God-Damned politician. _Well_ , Digg mused, _in that case, maybe he does sound like a guy who should be on a watch list._

“What do you have for me?” Oliver dropped the phone into the front pocket of his suit coat.

“She holed up in her room for six hours working on whatever work stuff we dragged her away from. She had lunch with your sister. Roy says she's told her boss she's going to be out through Monday.”

“That's it?”

“I also know she's mid-level at Stellmoor, I know she freelances, I know she got a free-ride to MIT, and I know she lives in a shit-hole in China Town.”

“Where does her money go?”

“That, I don't know.”

Oliver rubbed his index finger across his bottom lip before stabbing it forcefully against the desk's surface. “There's something else here. Something Golitsyn isn't saying.”

“She seems pretty harmless, Oliver.”

“Anybody can get into drugs, Digg. Anyone can end up in debt. So we need to find out who. Who else is pulling these strings?”

“Where should I start?”

“Start with the money. Get into her job, her bank, her known associates. Until I know, she's a liability, and she's in my home with my family. I can't have that, John.”

“I know,” Diggle stood, “I'll head downstairs, see if I can dig anything up on the computer.”

Two floors above them Thea and Felicity were hunkered down in Thea's bathroom pouring over her train case full of nail polish.

“I'm sorry I don't have anything terribly grown up or refined in here. I've been getting my nails done since high school. So, FYI this might be a little neon-glitter-bomb, cherry flavored lip gloss.”

“I don't mind,” Felicity said, “I like bright colors.”

“Really? Because your current sartorial choices would seem to contradict that.” She waved a hand that encompassed Felicity's dark wash jeans, navy sweater, and black flats.

“Oh,” Felicity glanced down at herself, “This isn't what I would choose, this is just... how it ended up.” She cleared he throat, “I'll take that bright blue, if that's ok.”

Two coats of Teal The Cows Come Home later. Felicity and Thea had matching steamy towels wrapped around their faces and were listening to (the surprisingly accurately named) “Thea's Relax Mix”. When Felicity heard and insistent and annoying pinging.

“Did you hear that?” She said to Thea.

Thea hummed, “Unless it's a cabana boy with spa water, I'm not interested.”

And then again. “Wait,” Felicity rose up from her chaise lounge (seriously). “I think it's my phone.” She waddled out to the main bedroom (not wanting to smudge her still drying toes) and fished around on the dresser for her cell.

“Damn,” she whispered dragging her knuckle across the surface of the phone, as it pinged again.

“What's wrong?” Thea called from the bathroom. She had lifted one corner of the towel off her face to peak at Felicity.

“I never realized how hard this would be with a drying manicure.”

Thea laughed and Felicity finally, _finally_ got the phone unlocked and the messages open.

 _Went by your apt but you weren't there. We need 3 again. Soon_.

Followed by:

_Where are you? Why aren't you home?_

She quickly punched in: _I'll do what I can. I'll call later_.

She blew out a long breath before setting the phone back on the dresser.

“Hey Thea?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about getting out of here for a little while?”

“Oh?” Thea's towel hit the floor with a wet smack.

“Yeah, a girls' day in is awesome, but I'm usually in and out a lot. So, what do you think about a girls' day out?”

Thea was leaning against the door way to the bathroom. “I think that sounds awesome. Two things though. First: Someone will have to come with us, house rule. And Two: You'll need to change. I have a society girl reputation to uphold.”

She smiled, “Deal.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Felicity was waiting in line for a teller at Starling's First National and trying not to fidget with the sheer overlay of the Very Nice Dress Thea was allowing (forcing) her to borrow. She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and glanced down at the Very Nice Heels she was also borrowing and decided she probably shouldn't shuffle around too much either.

Instead she glanced out the plate glass windows that overlooked the Avenue and could still plainly see Roy and Thea in the boutique across the street.

They had already hit two other stores and the trunk of the town car was already half full.

“Come on,” Thea had wheedled at the first stop after going in and out of the dressing room twice with a personal shopper and armfuls of things., “It's not a Girls' Day if I'm the only one shopping. That's just a regular day and I can do that anytime.”

Felicity had glanced at one blouse on the rack and gulped. She really, really couldn't afford any of this. _Oh holy God, maybe this was a bad cover._

She drifted over to the shoe display and finally to the jewelry counter and found a small display marked “Hair Ornaments”. She smiled at the pretension of it until a small silver and green clip caught her eye. She ran the tips of her fingers over the silver scroll work (which looked like lace) and the (judging from the fact it was in a tray on the counter and not locked in the glass case, it was a very nice, but very much a) rhinestone in the center. She slipped the tag out and gasped. It was less than the blouse, but still. She glanced up at the clock. _Sometimes sacrifices must be made_.

“Nice choice.” Thea said from where she had appeared over Felicity's shoulder. “So we'll take these,” she said, passing the clerk two dresses and a pair of shoes, “And what my friend has,” as she handed over her bank card.

“No.”

“Oh,” Thea look surprised, “hold that, my friend isn't done looking yet.”

“N-no.” Felicity stammered. “I've got this.” She clutched the pin a little tighter in her hands.

“Felicity, when a Queen takes you out, you let them.”

“I appreciate it Thea, but I've been paying my own way for a long time, and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon.” She was so busy making her declarations to her borrowed shoes that she missed the meaningful look Roy had shot Thea over the top of Felicity's head.

“Of course,” Thea said, her eyes gentle, “but I'm totally buying dinner.” Felicity sent her a grateful smile, “So no whining about where I pick to go.”

She lingered on the sidewalk as Thea slid into the back seat of the car so she could pull Roy aside after he had loaded up all of Thea's new purchases in the trunk. “Umm, I need to stop at the bank. I need to check my balance.” She sent a guilty glance at Thea, who was busy settling herself against the plush tan leather.

“Where you bank at?”

“First National.”

“There's a couple of places she likes near there. Don't worry we'll hit it.”

The customer notice board over head buzzed indicating an available teller. Felicity strode to the woman, cleared her throat and handed over her withdrawal slip.

“Money order miss?”

“Yes.”

“For three thousand?”

Felicity couldn't completely contain her wince or her defeated tone, “Yes.”

“Sign here, and here.” She watched the check print out and a little more of her financial security drain away. 

Safely ensconced back in the bubble of personal shopping and confident that Roy only had eyes for Thea, Felicity sank further back into the plush sofa and fished her phone out of her purse. 

_Camden Park. 10 minutes._

She slipped the money order out of her purse and into her coat pocket before rising off the sofa and clearing her throat at a passing sales girl, “Ladies room?”

The clerk gestured as best she could with her hands full of shoe boxes. “Through the swinging door, on the left.”

Felicity nodded and then turned to Roy mouthing “Bathroom.” He gave a short nod and slid his gaze back to where people were flowing in and out of the private dressing room.

Felicity slipped through the swinging doors but went right, instead of left, to the employee entrance door. She cast her gaze around frantically, “Yes!” She leaned down to grab the half brick surrounded by cigarette butts. “You can always count on smokers for all your door propping needs,” she whispered to herself. She wedged the brick in place and headed for the park. 

Camden Park was a half city block of open grass, stately trees and winding paths. In the summer it was packed with community activities. But in the winter, this close to dusk, even on a Saturday, it was deserted. And totally out of place in the center of it was a sallow looking man in dirty cargo pants and a parka, pacing and chewing on this thumb nail.

Felicity got within ten feet of the man and felt a growing concern when he failed to acknowledge her.

 _He must not recognize me,_ she thought when she remembered what she was wearing.

Felicity cleared her throat and he jumped and spun towards her.

“Jesus, give me a heart attack. Why do you look like a hooker?” _Charming._ “Where's the money.” _And straight to the point_.

“You promised me this was over, Sasha.”

“Promises made, promises broken Felicity, you know how it goes.”

“How can you be so flippant about this?”

“Flippant, flippant?” He stepped into her space. His sour whiskey breath hot against her face. “How can you be so immune to my suffering? It's just a little, ok? It's just a little to get through. You have that fancy education, and that fancy job, alright? I don't have any of that, I'm just taking my share.”

“It's not your share,” Felicity's voice trembled, “You haven't earned it.”

“What was it that Papa always said to us? Family is family, share and share alike. This is you sharing with your brothers. Where's the check?”

“No,” Felicity stepped back, finding iron in her spine, “No, you and Ilya promised me.”

“You must want to give me the money Felicity, or you wouldn't be here.” Sasha snatched out at where her gloved hand was buried in her coat pocket, clutching the money order. “Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be.” His fingers squeezed around the back of her hand forcing her to ease her grip on the slip of paper. He shoved back on her shoulder while pulling in with his hand. Felicity skittered on the gravel behind her. Tipping over in her shoes, she cried out as she landed with a jolt on her left side.

Sasha waved the check triumphantly in front of himself, he air kissed it before turning away from her and starting to the other side of the park. “I'll be sure to give Ilya your love.”

Felicity bit back her tears and didn't call out after him. _What difference would it make. He's right. I did come._

She surveyed the damage caused by landing hard on the path. Her upper legs and hands had been spared by her coat and mittens. But her lower left leg and, Oh God, Thea's dress were faring less well. The hem was shredded and stained with blood because of the deep gash down the outside of her left calf. 

Felicity winced and bit her lip as she rolled to her knees and stood up as best she could in unfamiliar shoes while favoring her injury. 

Don't cry.

Don't cry.

Don't cry.

The throbbing of her leg synced with her mantra as she hobbled back to the alley way.

She rounded the dumpster and pulled up short as she glimpsed the employee entrance of the boutique. Someone had kicked the brick away. _You know what, I'm just going to go home. Damn the consequences and damn them._ And then she remembered the blood pooling in her borrowed shoe and hesitated. Then she remembered she'd left her purse in the store anyway and resolved herself to whatever scene developed.

She was within feet of the front entrance, when a strong hand snatched out and tightly gripped her forearm. “Get in the car,” the voice gritted out, “right now.” It was Roy, she could have cried in relief. He yanked open the passenger door and all but pushed her onto Thea. Felicity had barely cleared her heel from the door when he slammed it shut behind her.

“Hey,” Thea protested as Roy slid into the driver's seat. “There's no call for that.”

“Did you enjoy your little walk about, Ms. Smoak? I bet you feel so smart.” His voice took on a mocking falsetto, “'Let's go into town, of course Thai food sounds great, let's stop at the bank, please excuse me while I slip out the back and disappear for nearly an hour.' Not too fucking smart, you didn't actually get away.”

“It's not like that,” Felicity grimaced, the pain in her leg increasing with every bounce the car made through the stop and go traffic.

“Of course it's not,” Thea was quick to defend. “If she had wanted to get away she wouldn't have come back, and she would have taken her purse with her.” Thea reached over to pat Felicity comfortingly.

“Please don't Thea,” Felicity gasped in a lungful of air.

She snatched her hand back to her side of the bench seat. “Roy's not right is he?” the hurt just as clear in her tone as in her expressive eyes.

“I just- I just don't want to get any blood on you. Plus it still hurts.”

Only then did Thea notice the sluggish trickle of blood down Felicity's leg. “Oh God, Roy! She's hurt! Oh God, Oh God, there's blood.”

“With any wound you should apply pressure,” Roy instructed from the front seat. He sounded like he was reciting out of a book.

“With what,” Thea's screech was almost, but not quite, hysterical.

“Here,” Felicity unwound her scarf and handed it to her.

“Elevate her leg too,” continued the instructions from the front seat.

They did as they were told. Laying Felicity's leg across the backseat, propping her ankle on Thea's lap. The poor girl bit down on her lip nervously and pressed against Felicity's leg.

“Oh, God,” Felicity gripped the back seat with her left hand and pushed against the back of the empty front passenger with her right.

“She's in pain Roy! Is it broken?”

“She was walking ten minutes ago.” _Why is he so good around this kind of pressure? Blood and distracted driving and... Oh right, God knows what his boss gets into._

“I know,” Thea challenged, “But then you shoved her in the car.” 

“It's not broken,” Felicity bit out, “just full of dirt, and it hurts.”

“Fifteen more minutes,” Roy stepped harder on the accelerator, “maybe ten if we're lucky. I'm calling Diggle. He'll meet us at the front.”

“Shouldn't I be going to a doctor?” Felicity was starting to get woozy. _It's from shock and stress, not blood loss,_ she told herself, _please don't let it be blood loss._

“It's basically the same thing.” _Right, Bratva. Who knows what they have to keep in-house._

Thea patted her knee, “Just a little further now.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO this chapter is going up today instead of Saturday because tonight is the first night of Hanukkah and I'm excited! Next chapter will be up on Saturday per the usual.

Police Transcript 10.1003.67  
Location of Subjects: Garage Annex Building of Gas Station 1900 block of S 56th St.  
Police Location: Surveillance Van #2 200 ft N.E of subject location  
Subject Identity: Known Triad Associate “Mr. Xiang” on phone with Unnamed Triad Associate  
Translated from Mandarin by Officer Liang, Linguistics

Mr. Xiang: What do you mean it's missing?

Mr. Xiang: We need to find the insurance as soon as possible.

Mr. Xiang: I don't care. There needs to be compliance. The policy must be found.

*~*~*~*~*~

_Well,_ Felicity thought as Diggle eased her into a chair in some darkened room near the front of the house, _at least he's allowed me the dignity of walking in under my own power. Although dignity might be pushing it,_ she hissed in pain as the hem of Thea's dress was shifted back to reveal her wound, _but that's ok, because walking is definitely pushing it._

“Oh God, it's really bad isn't it? Roy, it looks super bad.” Thea was flitting around her like a terrified butterfly. “Roy where are you going? She's really hurt!”

“I know she's really hurt. I'm getting the cart,” came the echo-y reply from the foyer. 

“It's not that bad,” Felicity interjected.

“It really isn't,” came Diggle's assessment from where he was kneeling before her. “It's mostly surface, and a lot of debris. You'll be fine,” he shot Felicity a reassuring smile and patted her hand.

Roy trundled back into the room pushing a golden mirrored bar cart.

“I'm really not in the mood for a cocktail,” Felicity winced as Digg shifted her calf under the lamp.

“This isn't for a celebration, this is medicinal,” Roy said, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“What are you going to do? Give me a scotch straight up and have me bite into a wooden spoon handle?! I've changed my mind Digg, I want a hospital doctor.”

“It's not like that,” Diggle turned from her to open the gilded door and rummage around inside. It wasn't until he turned back to her, his hands clutching a bottle of sterile water and some alcohol wipes that Felicity blurted out, “That's not a bar cart, that's a med cart.”

“That's what I said,” Roy huffed out irritatedly. 

Diggle spread a towel on the floor beneath Felicity's feet and eased off the left shoe. It clung, briefly, to her skin. Sticky from the dried blood.

“I'm so sorry Thea,” Felicity exhaled.

“Don't even worry about it,” Thea squeezed into the over-sized lounger with her and put a supportive arm around her shoulder, “I've got lots.”

Felicity sat mute through the rest of Digg's cleaning of her wound. Thea a constant presence as the tears slipped silently from her eyes while Digg picked the dirt and debris from her torn flesh. 

She was taking great hiccuping breaths and trying to gather her thoughts. _Ok, when this finally stops, exactly how long do I have until panic and shock set in?_ She gasped as the burn from the alcohol wipe lit her skin. _I've probably got just enough time to limp up the stairs and remake the closet nest before the real tears come_.

Diggle had set the used supplies to the side and turned back to the converted bar cart. Retrieving gauze, bandages and a support wrap. 

“No,” Felicity jerked her leg to the side and winced, “John, no.”

“It's ok, Felicity,” John held his hand in the air as if she were a skittish cat. “It's just a little bandage and then you get to go to bed.”

“John, latex,” she blurted out, “I'm allergic. To that and peanuts, but I don't think you have any peanut sourced band-aids in there.”

“Alright,” Digg said, still moving slow and easy, “I've got some med tape, latex free.”

She shot him a brittle smile, “Perfect.”

The resulting bandage wasn't as sleek as it could have been. Digg had insisted on an extra layer of support elastic over the home-made gauze and tape band-aid. 

Felicity slipped off the right shoe and was testing (gently) easing her weight on her left side, scooting closer to the edge of the chair as she went. 

“What are you doing?” Roy jumped up from where he'd been standing sentry at the door.

“I'm going upstairs. I'm really tired.”

“No, you have to wait,” he took two strides towards her, standing as though he meant to block her physically if she resisted.

“You don't have to carry her, Roy,” Thea chided coming around to the side of him.

Roy shot Thea an annoyed look, “It's not that, Thea. Mr. Queen wants to speak with her.”

Felicity swallowed thickly. She had to leave right now if she was going to make it out of here without causing a scene. Which had, apparently, a zero percent chance of happening. She sucked in a big gulp of air, then another. And wished for the first time that night that the med cart really was full of liquor. 

Digg had handed her a white pill and a glass of water right before they left her to the wolves. Wolf, singular, Mr. Queen. “It's for the pain.”

God, if only.

The room was empty now. Just Felicity and her drug addled thoughts. She tilted her head back against the chair and breathed out, trying to relax. Her head filled with a buzzing sound, distant and low. Her mind drifted, fuzzy and soft. _I could sleep like this_ , she thought, _despite all the windows_.

She startled when she heard the door click shut.

“Did I surprise you?” His voice was low and rich, his face cast in shadow, his hair glinting gold. The only light in the room was still pointed at Felicity's leg.

She cleared her throat, “I'm not surprised I heard the door close. I'm surprised I didn't hear it open.”

He shifted his stance, more fully facing her, and folded his arms across his chest. Even in the dim light it was clear how the shoulders of his suit jacket bunched at the motion. Her eyes drifted down as her head started to loll forward. Her gaze slipped over the powerful lines of his thighs to his braced feet. He looked like an asp, ready to strike.

“I'm sure you know what's coming, Ms. Smoak.”

“Oh yeah, I always know when someone's coming. I mean, what's coming- with your mouth, I mean with talking.” She shook her head, _3... 2... 1_ , “I'm really good at reading the direction of conversations.”

“So where do you think this one is heading?”

“Where I went, why I went, do I know who's after me. Then I'm expecting some yelling and swearing, and probably being sent away.” She lifted her chin in challenge, “I wouldn't re-do any part of today, just so you know.” Her swagger was false. _I wonder if he can tell?_

He grabbed the back of the chair Roy had been sitting in earlier and dragged it to the edge of the illuminated circle at her feet. He sat down, back rigid, and legs still braced apart. The tension of his body was belied by the looseness with which he held his hands in his lap. The backs were peppered in innumerable and unknowable scars from small nicks and cuts. _What happened to you Oliver Queen?_

“Ok, and the rest?”

“I shouldn't have gone.”

“So, why did you?”

“I have a lot of obligations Mr. Queen.” If her eyes hadn't been closed she would have seen his hands clench.

“Who? Who are you in debt too?”

Her eyes slid open, drugged and slow. “Nobody.”

She heard his great inhale, like a bellows. The words, when they came out, sounded like it was with a great deal of restraint. “I know you went to the bank, I know you took out three thousand dollars, I know you disappeared for nearly an hour, and I know you came back cashless, and roughed up. Would you like to try again Ms. Smoak?” His last sentence was nearly a yell. The man was clearly at the edge of his patience. 

“How did you know I got money?” her voice wavered, sounding thin.

“What?”

“Roy could have told you any of that other stuff, but he didn't know I got money. How did you?”

“Who did you give the money order too?”

“Maybe I got mugged.”

“You were purse-less. Who would purse-snatch a purse-less lady?”

She inhaled, voice thick with unshed tears, “Were you tracking my activity?”

“It's for your safety.” He leaned in, forearms on his thighs. Bringing the upper part of his chest into the lit circle. The long line of his throat golden in the lamp light.

“My safety,” She scoffed bitterly, “my safety is where my money goes.”

“Are you being extorted?”

“It's my brothers.”

“You're being extorted by your brothers?” His voice was low and controlled, but no less on edge. This time, she did see his hands clench.

“No, no,” she rushed to reassure him, “they have, had.... _had_ ,” she emphasized to her self, “had some problems with drugs?” it came out as a question.

“You don't sound too sure of that.” His head tilted, the plane of his cheek sliding into shadow. 

“No,” she leaned forward to brace her elbows on her knees, breathing deep while her stomach rolled, “I'm pretty sure. What the hell did Digg give me?”

“A mild pain reliever.” His mouth was right by her cheek. His breath stirring the delicate curl that framed her ear. 

_Mild?_ “Holy God,” she whispered, “that sure ain't aspirin.”

“Ms. Smoak?” She felt the reassuring weight of his hand on her knee and slid her lids open to reveal a strong, stubbled jaw. And further up eyes so blue, surrounded by lashes so long, they should be relegated to the world of porcelain dolls. Mr. Queen, Bratva Captain, and Man To Fear was on his knees in front of her. And not only did he have one hand on her leg, he had his other fist on the edge of the chair boxing her in, keeping her close. “What happened?” His eyes were gentle, but his tone held intent. _God, he smells good._

The sensation of tears rolling to the back of her eyes hit like a punch in the gut, she gasped, “They wanted to be like Papa, but Mom said no. So now they're... rudderless? They don't know what they're doing?”

“Be like Papa?” _Has he shifted closer?_ “What does that mean.”

“Like you.” _Why am I so breathless?_

“Like me?”

“Bratva. But after Papa died,” she shrugged jerkily, “Mom said no. And they didn't want school, or to work in the casino as bell boys. They wanted their birthright.”

“Bratva?”

“Yeah,” the urge to cry had eased some, it left a floaty feeling in it's wake. “Bratva, so what were they supposed to do?”

“What did they do?”

“Drugs,” it slipped out as soon as she thought it, “and girls. Sometimes I've paid them too.”

“Paid?”

She hummed, “Sasha and Ilya say they don't mean to, but sometimes... You should always get paid for your work, Mr. Queen,” she said, nodding, suddenly very serious, “even if you're a hooker.”

She slumped back in the chair as he rose abruptly. She heard the rustle of fabric as he removed his jacket and tie, “Can you stand, Ms. Smoak?”

“I think I'll sleep here.”

“I'm afraid that's not an option.” He leaned down to scoop her up against his chest. One strong arm beneath her shoulder, the other behind her knees.

“I don't like upstairs,” she confessed, burrowing into his neck, “it's not safe there.”

He faltered, slightly, in his step, “What makes you say that?” his voice a rumble in his chest, his breath ghosting across her cheek.

“There's eyes everywhere. And they see... everything,” she yawned, “not safe.”

She didn't get to tell him about the Hell Windows filled with All Seeing Eyes, because when he finally laid her out in the guest bed, she was fast asleep. 

Oliver descended the stairs, his progress being tracked by three expectant faces. 

“Diggle, Roy.” Oliver pivoted on his heel and headed towards his study, his steps quick and sure.

He settled himself in the plush leather of his chair, eyes closed, gathering his thoughts. When he opened them, Diggle and Roy were across the desk from him, as expected. Unexpectedly though, was his sister. 

“Thea,” he leveled her a flat stare.

“No,” her spine stiffened at his imperious tone.

“Thea, this is family business.”

“I am family.”

“Thea, come on,” Roy had her gently by the elbow, “you should head upstairs, I'll follow up in a minute.”

“But she's my friend.” Thea continued, undaunted. 

“How can she be your friend? You've known her since breakfast.”

“We bonded deeply during mutually trying circumstances,” she yanked out of Roy's grasp. “Fine!“ she said to Oliver, and swept from the room.

Oliver leaned back in his chair and rolled up his shirt sleeves, his tie and coat still in the library. “Where are we in all of this?”

Digg cleared his throat, “Her known associates, aside from co-workers, are the mother in Las Vegas, and two brothers locally.”

“Anything interesting there?”

“The brothers,” Diggle continued. “They've been in and out if Iron Heights. Mostly petty stuff, low level possession, solicitation, drunk and disorderly, stuff like that.”

“And their associates?”

“Bratva.”

_Interesting_ , “They're still running with their old crew?”

“No, they're running with their current crew.”

Oliver's body stilled, muscles tense. _Has she lied to me?_

“They work for Balashov.” 

Oliver nodded. Balashov was one of the three old Captains left in Starling. “I didn't know we employed drug addicts.”

“They're a legacy,” John shifted uncomfortably, “the old man was in the Bratva, died for us too. The boys wanted a fresh start after he passed. How did Antoly put it,” John said more to himself than anyone else, “ _They wanted to become men._ Apparently they do alright. They pull in decent money for protection services.”

“That's where the money goes,” Oliver's voice was low.

“What money?” Roy asked, uneasy being out of the loop.

“Felicity's money.” Digg said, understanding dawning with horror on his face, “Their protection profits? That's Felicity's money.”

“That's who she risked leaving my protection for? That's who beat her up? Her brothers?” Roy was bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, he was clearly spoiling for a fight. “What kind of man beats up his little sister? Is that the source of the threats? The brothers?”

“Probably not,” Digg replied barely holding onto his temper, “if they kill her, where will the money come from? They'll stop being Balashov's legacy boys.”

Oliver grit his teeth, some of the pieces starting to become visible, “Diggle,” he began, his voice edged with steel, “If these brothers are Bratva, why does she live in China Town?”

John gaped, “They insisted. She mentioned that at breakfast, that they insisted she live in _that_ building. They know a guy, who knows a guy, who owns it.”

“That's where we'll start tomorrow, we'll find a guy, who knows a guy.” Oliver stood, unfastening the top three buttons of his shirt. “I'm headed to bed.”

He had reached the top the the grand staircase, and turned. His bed beckoning from where his room was tucked, inconspicuously, near the kitchen service staircase, when he heard someone gasping, low and distraught.

He turned back and crept down the hallway, _Felicity_. He pressed his ear against her door, and kept his breath shallow and quiet. 

“I know,” she choked out on a sob, “I'm sorry I'm here.”

He raised his hand to the knob, furious that someone had gotten into his house, wondering who she had snuck in there with her.

“You're breaking up Ily.” _Oh, the phone_. He stilled his hand.

“I'll try to get home as soon as possible,” her voice was steadier, but still fragile, “I know you just want to keep me safe, but I don't like it there. I don't think it's a safe building. There's weird noises sometimes.”

“What if it is 'only rats'? Who wants to live in an infested building? And you know what? Maybe I won't have to live there much longer anyway! I'm two hundred short on my rent now. Maybe he'll just evict me! Then how will you keep an eye on me?”

Her words were slurring again. She was, obviously, still under the effects of the sedative Digg had given her. Oliver glanced at his watch. _They should be wearing off any time now_.

“I know, I promised. I'll work harder,” she sounded small and defeated. Oliver tamped down his growing anger. This isn't what will help. _Frightening her will get you nowhere_. He heard a clattering then, presumably where she had dropped her phone against the nightstand. He drew in a calming breath a pushed into her room. 

“Felicity?” _Keep it together, Queen_. “Can't sleep?” 

She was perched on the edge of the bed. Hair mussed, still in Thea's tattered dress. Her hands were pressed against her trembling lips. Tears swimming in her eyes, that seemed impossibly huge behind her glasses. “I'm fine,” she whispered around her fingers.

“I don't think that's true.” _Why is she protecting them?_ “Was that your brother?”

She slipped him a watery smile, “Your 'casual tone' needs a lot of work.”

He smiled ruefully and stepped more fully into her space. “I don't usually have to use 'tones', I usually get what I want.”

“Yeah?” she breathed out. He could feel her eyes raking over his body, lingering appreciatively on the open collar of his shirt, and silver of his belt buckle, “I bet you do.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up at her flirty banter, “Do you know what I want now, Felicity?”

She sucked in a breath and swayed slightly on the edge of the bed. “No,” she replied, guilelessly.

He crossed to the bed and sat next to her on the rumpled blankets. “I want,” Oliver leaned in close, his breath along the shell of her ear, “to be your friend, to help you.”

She let out and long shaky exhale and pinched her lips together. “Oh?”

“Yeah. What do you want Felicity?”

“I want a hug,” came the whispered confession, “I wish Thea were here.”

“Why Thea?”

“Diggle seems nice, but I don't think he's the cuddling kind.”

“What about me.”

The look she shot him, while still glassy, was clearly surprised. “Are you a cuddler, Oliver?”

He smiled down at her, liking the sound of his name on her tongue. “Are you asking?”

“I might be,” the flirty edge had returned to her voice, she sounded lighter.

He kicked off his shoes and maneuvered himself against the mound of pillows, half reclining against the headboard. “C'mere,” he urged, hands beckoning.

She turned towards him, a little ungainly, and a little drunkenly, until her right hip was pressed between his thighs and she was relaxed against his chest. Felicity carefully positioned her injured calf on top of his knee, their legs entwined.

“Am I squishing you?” her lips tickled the underside of his stubbled jaw as she asked the question.

“No,” he cleared his throat and settled more firmly into the pillows, “you're fine.”

“Thanks Oliver,” she was clearly half asleep already. He reached out and plucked her glasses from her nose and placed them on the night stand before running his hand up and down her back in a soothing caress. Her fingers petted along the button band of his shirt in the same rhythm. 

“How do you feel now?” he whispered against the top of her head.

“Safe.”

Felicity would like to say, that she bounced awake, bright eyed and ready to face the day, on her second morning in the mansion. That she flung back her covers, and lifted her perfectly coiffed head to the tune of blue birds singing by the open windows with sunshine streaming across her suite.

If she did though, it would be a lie. 

Felicity awoke to freezing rain pounding against the windows, her brain pounding in her head, and not a single blue bird in sight. 

She wiped the grit out of here eyes and felt that vague unpleasantness that often accompanies sleeping in your clothes. She raised a tremoring hand to rub out the kink she'd gotten in her shoulder from being pressed face first into an awkwardly assembled stack of pillows.

_What in the world?_

She turned then, to place her feet on the plush carpet, and gasped at the intensity of the memory that washed over her.

Her call to Ily, he was mad, so, _so_ mad. She pressed her palms flat against her ears to keep away the remembered sound of his shouting. And then Oliver, in her room. _He sat right here_ , her fingers dropped from beside her face and ghosted over the coverlet. _And then I cried again, and then, and then... Oh God. I curled up in his lap and fell asleep_. She cast her gaze around the room. The sheets on the other side of the bed felt cool. _Well, he clearly didn't sleep here_. She wasn't sure if she was disappointed about that. 

She got to her feet then, wincing at the ache in her leg since John's 'mild paid reliever' had long ago worn off, and limped to the bathroom. She undressed gingerly and stepped into the spray. Distracting herself from the throbbing in her leg with the memory of a firm chest, gentle hands, and a steady heartbeat. 

She perched on the vanity stool in the en suite and toweled her hair dry. _At least it's done. They know, now_. She heaved a shuddering sigh. They all know about her brothers and their... problems. They know she's been living in a derelict building in a terrible part of town. _At least now it's over. The threat has been minimized and it's time to go home_. She nodded once, firmly, and started to pack up her belongings.

She crawled out from under the bed, all in pursuit of an errant sock, and checked her purse one last time for her chargers, phones, and tablet. Present and accounted for. She lugged her duffel onto her shoulder and wobbled down the hallway. 

She got as for as the balcony over looking the foyer when she paused. Initially to catch her breath and figure out the best way to get her things down the stairs, (Chucking everything over the railing and hobbling down with just her purse was her best working theory.) when she became completely, and utterly distracted with the flurry of activity downstairs.

Two well built men were sliding something heavy on a dolly that had been swathed a moving blanket across the marble floor. Another man was behind them holding a heavy box and acting as their spotter. A fourth man was scuttling back from somewhere in the house and out the front door. She saw him a moment later reenter with another box in hand.

“They work really fast don't they?” Thea had sidled up to her while she had been lost in her admiration of their operation. “This is really good, you know? Sometimes big decisions are the best.”

“How long has this been in the works?”

“Since today. Ollie said he decided just last night. Roy's super-fast when he's motivated, so he got all this,” she waved her hand in front of them, “together in a hurry. And after what happened yesterday, everyone figured it would be best if we all just kept close.”

Felicity smiled, _young love_ , “This is kind of a big step though, moving in, isn't it?”

“Not really,” Thea shook her head, an amused smile on her face, “everyone basically lives here anyway.”

Felicity nodded, and tried to tamp down a small pang of jealousy at the thought of living with a partner, an impossible feat in her tiny studio. “Either way, congratulations on taking that next step with Roy.”

Thea stared at her, openly. “What are you talking about?”

“Roy,” Felicity gestured at the busy workmen in the foyer, “moving in.”

“Didn't they tell you?” Thea's hand was gentle on her forearm, “These aren't Roy's things, Felicity. They're your's.”

Felicity was sure that Thea was full of kind words, and pleasant platitudes, but she couldn't hear them over the blood rushing in her ears, and her stomping echoing off the paneled walls as she marched off in search of the one and only Mr. Queen. 

She got most of the way to his room before she realized he wouldn't be in bed this late anyway. She moved past his door and onto the kitchen stairs, thunking down them with her uneven gait. 

“I need to speak with your employer.” 

Raisa lifted her head from where she had been bent over a paper and pen, recipe cards fanned out in front of her. “Is there something the matter, Miss Felicity?”

“Ye-.”

“No,” Thea interrupted placing her hands on Felicity's shoulders, of course she had followed her down the stairs, “there is nothing wrong Raisa, there has been a slight... misunderstanding.” Felicity huffed loudly. Thea cleared her throat and continued diplomatically, “Felicity was unaware of the time-line for her moving in. She was a little startled at the suddenness of it.”

“Really,” Raisa laid down her pen and turned to study the pair of them still standing by the stairs, “Mr. Oliver told me he spoke with you last night. And that this was for the best. For your safety.”

“I was drugged,” might as well be blunt about it, “I don't remember much of any conversation from last night.”

“What?” Thea gasped.

“Mr. Diggle gave me something, 'for the pain' I don't really...”

“It was a mild sedative,” Raisa stated, matter of fact.

“Hey,” Thea gently placed an arm around Felicity's shoulders, and steered her towards the table, “I'm not excusing his behavior, really I'm not, but he just wanted you safe from your brothers.”

“Really?” Felicity lowered herself warily into a chair, “Then why is he acting exactly like them? He didn't even ask.” She hated the way her voice faltered.

Raisa's hand slid over, gently laying on the back of Felicity's fingers, “He said you were unsafe in your home, even without this threat pointed against you. Is this true?”

“Yes,” Felicity whispered.

“He said your brothers have hurt you physically, and that they know where you live. Is this true?”

“Yes,” again, came her answer.

“He said he was tasked, specifically, with your well-being. Is this true?”

Felicity shrugged jerkily,”I don't know. He nev-”

“It is,” Thea sat down on Felicity's other side, her fingers clasping over Raisa's.

“But they're my family, and-,” Felicity began.

“No,” Raisa shook her head sharply, “no, Miss Felicity. They are not family. We are family. Bratva. Loyal.”

Felicity slumped forward until her head was resting on the table in the halo of their arms.

“You seem very tired still,” Raisa went on. Standing up from the table and heading for the oven, “I know you had a very bad fall yesterday, and the medicine will always make you sleepy. Here,” she set a plate of eggs and toast at Felicity's elbow, “eat, you will need it.”

“Hey, what about-,” she heard Thea begin to protest, followed by Raisa's huff, the shuffling of her slippers, and a thunk on the other side of her head.

“Of course I have food for you too, my sweet. I will have my life's work chasing after all you with food, and medicine! ” she grumbled from across the room, “And Mr. Oliver is the worst of you all.”

Felicity and Thea disentangled their fingers then and began to, quietly, eat their breakfasts. 

Oliver was hunched over his desk, tie and jacket discarded as he stared unseeingly at the account numbers in front of him. He kept getting lost in the memory of quiet hiccuping breaths, and a languid sleeping body pressed against him. Not a burden, a comfort.

Oliver could feel the intensity of her eyes on him like a brand. _Felicity_. She was shuffling nervously next to where his office door was propped open letting in floods of light from the foyer.

“I would have said yes.”

He cocked his head to the side in a questioning gesture. Although he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“To being with you, I mean living with you, I mean, to living in the house, for my safety.”

He sat up straighter in his chair and gestured at the empty seat across from him.

She limped in, obvious how she was still favoring her left side. He felt a flash of anger then, dark and sharp.

“I just don't know how I'm going to commute from all the way out here. My boss was... basically nice about missing Monday, but I don't think I can telecommute everyday, and the price of gas is just... astronomical. Do buses even run this far out?”

He steepled his hands in from of his face and thought. He, honestly, hadn't spared one brain-cell to how she would continue to live her life outside his home. But now, “What are the hours you keep at Stellmoor?”

“Monday through Friday, eight to five. Sometimes the day goes late, sometimes there's weekends.” 

Unacceptable, he couldn't spare the man hours to keep someone with her at all times. Besides, she had already proved how skilled she was at evading them. And the thought of her slipping away again, and her brothers, or their friends, putting their filthy hands on her, hurting her, made his gut clench. 

He looked at her then in open appraisal, the delicate skin around her eyes smudged with dark bruising from many sleepless nights. Her cheeks were still blotchy from crying. Her hands shook faintly where they lie in her lap. She looked wrecked, and it was more than just yesterday. Her slight frame bore the evidence of many traumatic days gone by. “Are you happy, Ms. Smoak?”

His question startled her into laughing, “No, Mr. Queen,” her smile faltered, “I don't think I am.”

“Why is that?” God, did he want to know, he wanted to know what made her tick, what made her laugh, what made her gasp, he just didn't want to think about why to hard.

Her shoulders jerked up in tense approximation of a shrug, “Money, I can't ever seem to get ahead. And umm, there's people in and out of my building at all times, so it gets pretty loud. There's self storage there, I don't know if John mentioned that.” He nodded in an affirmative. “And my brothers you know? They're just... so much... and all the time.”

“Of those problems, how many have been solved by you moving into this house?”

She took another of those deep shuddering breaths and Oliver pressed his hands against the surface of his desk to keep his fingers from reaching for her. “Umm, all of them? Except about my brothers, and my commute.”

“If your brothers call you,” Oliver couldn't control how low his voice had gone. He didn't bother trying, “you will not answer. Do you understand me?”

“But what if they need me?”

“No.”

“But what if they find out where I'm at? What if my mother tells them I'm here and-,” her shoulders were stiff and her eyes huge with her rising panic.

“And what if they do? They won't make it past the end of the drive.”

“But they're my fam-”

“No,” he had to stop that line of thinking immediately, “you don't treat family like they treat you.”

She swallowed, his eyes trailed over the line of her neck to where the vee of her shirt exposed the hollow of her throat. He wanted to put his mouth over her pulse. He wanted it to flutter for a reason other than fear. “What about my job?”

He tried not to think about how breathless she sounded, “That's simple, Felicity, you work for me now.”

She jumped from her seat when he rose from his, the file he'd been pretending to read in his grasp. He circled the desk and came to her side. “If you'll allow me, Ms. Smoak.” 

He placed his hand in the small of her back and guided her into the depths of the house. They went down a short hallway past the kitchen to a heavy steel door. He pushed it open and waved for her to precede him down the flight of stairs. “On the left is a storage room, we've put your belongings there, on the right is the server room.” He pressed the file into her hand, “I need you to look into these accounts, and wire transfers for me.”

She turned to face him, a grin nearly splitting her face in two, her eyes twinkling. “My own server room? Oh God, it's like my birthday!” She opened the door and flicked on the over head light. The smile instantly vanished from her face, “If my birthday was in Hell. What are you running? Is this Win97? Where do those cables even go? Oh you poor baby,” she crooned, dropping the file, forgotten, onto a table to run her fingers along the metal edge of a case, “You've been so neglected, don't worry, I'll take care of you. And you, sir,” she said turning to Oliver her eyes dancing, “are clearly a menace. No one should be allowed to do this to innocent machinery. Now, I'm going to need my purse,” she muttered distractedly.

His mind was echoing with her saying 'I'll take care of you.' “I'll send Roy down with it, and anything else you think you'll need”

“Ok, thanks, Oliver.” She was crawling away from him then, chasing down a cable in a mess of other cables. 

He gripped his hand briefly on the door frame. Surprised at how affected he became to once again hear his name spill from her lips. And Oliver, very stoically, tried not to get an eyeful of her ass before he closed the door. 

It was past mid-day and creeping steadily towards dinner when Felicity, again, appeared at the door to his office.

“Knock, knock,” she smiled.

He pushed aside the notes from the Queen Consolidated legal department and leaned back in his chair. “To what do I owe the genuine pleasure?”

A pink flush swept up her cheeks, “I've tracked down those accounts for you. At Starling Central Bank.” She placed the file on the desk in front of him, but didn't sit in the chair.

“And?”

“It's all in the file, Mr. Queen.”

“I want it hear it from you.”

The pink on her cheeks intensified and began to creep down her neck. “The deposits were into an account belonging to a Mr. Tao Xiang. In addition to his personal accounts, I've printed out the information from his business accounts with Starling Central as well, and put them in the folder. I also found several other business accounts for his import/export firm at different regional banks. I printed those out too.”

“And the source of his deposits?”

“All his business transactions seem, vaguely, legitimate. He owns a gas station near my house, my former house,” she quickly corrected, “as well as a warehouse and some storefronts in China Town. His personal accounts are untraceable, all the deposits are cash. So, maybe he's skimming, or money laundering. I'm not sure.”

“And you did that in four hours? With that ancient system in the basement?”

“Pfft no, I did that in half an hour with my tablet. Then I spent three hours planning the upgrade for that beast.”

“A beast, hmm? Do you plan on taming it?” Her eyes were glassy then, but not from drugs. Oliver kept his smile as neutral as possible, noting how she was pressing her hands against the outside of her thighs, “And the other thirty minutes?”

She inhaled, the spell broken, “Weeping bitter tears at the horror of that relic, and wondering who the perverted genius was that put her together in the first place.”

Oliver smiled broadly, “Order whatever you want Felicity.”

“I already did. I found the number for your bank card stored in one of the servers downstairs. The delivery will be here this afternoon. I also took the liberty of routing everyone's cellphone GPS system into your's and John's cellphones so you can have access to our whereabouts at all times.” 

“Thea's OK with this?” 

“Thea suggested it.” 

“And you're ok with it?”

“I need this Mr. Queen, more than you could know.”


	4. Chapter 4

Felicity retreated from Oliver's office as fast as her legs could carry her. She paused in the hallway outside the kitchen and pressed her palms against her heated cheeks. _Friendly banter_ , she scolded herself, _that was just some really, really friendly banter, about computers. Don't think about it! I need a distraction_.

She continued forward and hobbled down the stairs. Instead of veering into the server room she entered the storage room.

Her eyes flicked over the stacks of mover's boxes in the center of the room. Her dresser, the mattress and bed-frame, and her book shelves were lined up against the far wall. She began to rifle through the top layer of boxes in search of clothing, toiletry items, and reading material. 

Twenty minutes later there was a sizable stack of 'go-upstairs' stuff by the door and Felicity was exhausted. Raisa had given her another little pill earlier with lunch. But now it was kicking in for real. She nearly cried at the thought of exhausting her self walking back up all those stairs, to a room she knew she couldn't sleep in anyway. 

_If only I could nap here. There's no window. All my stuff's here_. 

It took the last of her energy to clear enough floor space so she could tip the mattress away from the wall and onto the concrete. Felicity curled up in the center of the sheet-less, pillow-less, and blanket-less bed, and fell fast asleep. 

A while later the door banged open, and Felicity was in motion. Old instincts kicking in fast. Scuttling backwards on her palms, off the edge of the mattress, and banging her tailbone on the cement before she became fully awake. “Ow.”

“Oh thank God,” It was Roy. The light flickered on and though squinting and glasses-less, she could see him raise his hand to his ear, “She's in the basement, I've got her.” That sentence was obviously not directed at her. “What are you doing down here?” That sentence was. 

She wanted to answer really flippantly with, 'I was sleeping', but she more freaked out by his obvious agitation, and thinly veiled panic. “What is that?” She gestured around her own ear, eager to get to a less charged topic, “With the talking?”

“Everyone on the security team wears comm pieces.”

“You're on security?”

“What was it you thought I did?”

“You sleep with the boss' sister,” Thea called out from where she was bounding down the stairs. “Felicity, where do you want this stuff?” behind her were two people hauling in a large shipping crate.

“The server room,” she called out, struggling to stand. Roy took two steps forward and held out his hand. She took it gratefully as he helped lever her to her feet.

The two other security guards brushed past Felicity on their way back up the stairs as she finally made it to the door way.

“Come to me my precious,” she hissed from the hall.

Thea's head snapped up, “That is way creepier than you mean it to be.”

Felicity shot her a sly smile, “Come on, Thea. The Two Towers is classic.” Her brow wrinkled at Thea's confused face, ”The Two Towers? Gollum? You've read it, haven't you?”

Roy cleared his throat, “The Legolas Movie.”

Understanding dawned on Thea's face, “Oh, yeah,” she nodded, “totally.”

Roy shuffled his feet, “How long is this going to take?” he thumped the top of the box, breaking their awkward silence.

“Hey, easy hands with the goods, Roy!,” he pulled his hand away, a sheepish look on his face. “It depends on how much lifting I can get done with a bum leg and the sleepiness.”

“You're still feeling that?” Thea threw a supportive arm around her waist. “It's more than just the pills, you know that, right? You've been on the edge since before you got here.”

Felicity licked her lips, “I know Thea.”

“Well that's settled then, Roy and I can be your arms and legs. You can just sit back, and we'll be at your beck and call. Where do we start?”

“Let's start with the chair,” Roy insisted. “The more you can rest, the sooner you'll be off the meds.”

“Are you sure?” Felicity questioned, hesitant, “Maybe we should just jump right in. I don't want Mr. Queen to have-” 

“It'll be fine,” Roy interrupted. “Gotta take care of yourself,” he chided her with a smile. 

She'd cleared a decent amount of the room earlier, and piled the obvious junk by the stairs. Someone had hauled that away already. After the chair was assembled she wheeled herself to the mostly empty folding table and arranged her tools, readying herself for the build.

“Where'd you get those from?” Thea asked, propping her hip on the table next to Felicity's tool case

“My room.”

“When did you go upstairs?”

“Oh not that room, the one next door.”

“The storage room? A storage room is not your room, Felicity.”

Felicity swallowed, and took her time arranging the instruments in front of herself. _How do you tell someone you grew up in a crazy house with boarded up windows? That you were not allowed to leave your mother's sight, because she was so afraid you would die too? How much do people really want to know about your brothers' drug fueled raging? Only being safe when your mother locked you in a bathroom so no one could get at you?_ Felicity knew that no one's life was really normal, not in a Thursday Night Sitcom kind of way. But her childhood was really, really, not normal. 

But instead, she went for flippant. “I can't stay in the guest room Thea,” and she sent her a winning smile, “I'm not a guest anymore, remember? Besides I need to be close by during initial set up and testing in case there's a problem. There's no way I can keep heading up and down all the stairs.” 

The work then was quiet for a long time. She mumbled and gestured, tools and parts being pressed into her hands. Finished pieces pushed to the side until it could all be assembled into one, glorious whole. 

After slotting the last piece into the server rack, Felicity leaned back in her chair and smiled. The sleek machine rising in front of her like the obelisk in 2001: A Space Odyssey. She got to bask for about a minute before she was over taken by a yawn so big it almost cracked her jaw. She raised her hand in front of her mouth and grinned ruefully. “I guess that's my cue for break time.” She pushed slowly to her feet, the ache back in her leg.

Thea slung an arm around her waist. “I'll help you up stairs.”

She gently pulled out of Thea's grasp, “I'll just stay next door if that's ok?”

Thea huffed, indignant, “It really isn't.”

“It's just for twenty, I need to officially resign from my old job. Then I need to get back in here anyway.”

“Just twenty?”

“I promise.”

Thea nodded and headed back up the stairs, Roy at her heels. Felicity flopped on to the bed and composed her last e-mail to Heather on her tablet. 

Felicity at last struggled up the stairs. Her herculean task nearly finished, for now. Then sleep, beautiful sleep. She went down the hallway, around the corner and into the kitchen.

“Good, John's here,” she mumbled to herself, and made grabby hands at him, “phone, I need your phone.” 

He put his mug down on the counter and slid the device out of his pocket, offering it to her palm up, “Would you mind telling me what-”

“Later,” she slipped the back off his phone and delicately placed the hardware of her own making. Re-securing the fragile panel. She tapped twice on the surface of his phone, “There,” she said triumphantly, handing the device back. “All done.”

“All done what?”

“With my project,” she turned her back to him, rummaging through the refrigerator for leftovers, “Is anything still left from dinner?”

“Raisa left you a plate in the oven.” She heard a beep from Diggle's phone and then on a long exhale, “What did you do Felicity?”

She turned to him then, plate in one hand, fork halfway to her mouth, “Don't you like it?”

“This is,” he hesitated and started again, “how did you even manage this?”

“It was easy,” she smiled, rice pilaf tucked into her cheek, “I hooked the security cameras up to the new mainframe, and I'm sending the feeds wirelessly to your phone. That's what I put in there, it decodes the signal. Do you like the GPS locator?”

“Yes, I do, very much so.”

Felicity beamed, “Tap the icon with the eye on it, facial recognition programming. It'll flag anyone who's in the database marked as 'hostile' and alert you if they cross by the security cameras. You can manage the data through that app there.”

“We don't have a facial recognition database.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Since when?”

Felicity glanced at the clock on the stove, “Ten minutes ago.”

“How did you-”

“Mug shots are all stored on computers and the computers are on line, SCPD, FBI, state troopers too. It's all downstairs now. I flagged obvious stuff as 'hostile', Triad members, stuff like that, but you can use the eyeball icon to manage it that way. Keep everything up to date.” Her dishes clattered in the sink as she turned to head back to the basement.

“Where are you going Felicity?”

“To get in my jammies and head to bed,” she called over her shoulder, “I think I've earned it.”

Back in the storage room, she had just finished pulling a mismatched set of sheets around her mattress on the floor when she heard a throat clearing from the door way.

Just, for the record, Oliver Queen was a man built for the three piece suit. The way the cut of the jacket sat on his broad shoulders. The way a simple line of a perfectly pressed trouser brushed against his thigh. The way a waistcoat emphasized the muscled lines of his torso. But nothing could have prepared Felicity for how absolutely _devastating_ he was in a blue henley (open at the throat), jeans, a pair of old workboots, and a week's worth of stubble on his cheeks. _Uncalled for_. His arms crossed casually in front of his chest, raising the hem of his shirt up slightly above his belt.

“We're going to start calling you Quasimodo.”

“What?” she asked, honestly not really understanding what he was saying because she was unable to pry her brain off wondering, _If his jeans are that low, what sort of underpants does he have on? Maybe there aren't any underpants at all?_

“Quasimodo?” he continued. “Because you're living in the basement.”

“I'm pretty sure he lived in an attic. Would it even be an attic, if it was on a cathedral?” She turned her face then, letting her hair fall in between them, anything to hide her flush. She struggled to focus on her breathing and not the visible sliver of his chiseled abdomen. 

“Hey,” he was suddenly, and silently, kneeling at her side, “did Raisa give you another one of those pills?”

“No, I don't want any more. I don't like the way they make me feel.”

“You seem a little... shaken?”

“I'm just really tired, I had a very busy day. Did John show you the facial recognition program?”

“Yes, and I'd like it installed on my phone as soon as possible.” He eased onto the mattress next to her. His knee brushing against her thigh. “I need you to know Felicity, Digg and I will be leaving tomorrow, and we'll be gone for most of next week. Thea's usually in town during the early part of the week doing the accounts at the club from the weekend, Roy will be with her. There will be men here, men I trust, but it will be primarily you and Raisa in the house.” He lifted his hand to her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “You'll be safe here, Felicity. I swear it.”

She fiddled with a small hole in the knee of her flannel pajama pants to keep her hands from doing what they really wanted. Which was to grip his biceps tightly and then haul the rest of herself into his lap. “When you're gone I'll miss you... them... all of you, John and Roy and Thea. But I'm sure Raisa and I will be fine. And I do feel safe here Mr. Queen. Safer than I've felt anyplace else in a very long time. What should I start on when the server project is done?”

“Well, I'd like that facial recognition thing as soon as possible, but, honestly? Whatever you feel is best,” his hand was soothing on her shoulder, and big, spanning from where his thumb brushed her collar bone in the front to the nape of her neck and half way down her shoulder blade in the back. His smile was genuine, and his eyes soft. He leaned in ever so slightly and in a moment they were sharing air and maybe they were about to share-, “Just promise me you won't live in a storage room.”

Felicity nodded, her lips parted and her voice gone breathy, “Of course Mr. Queen.” He nodded in return and stood, heading to the door. “Good-night, Felicity.” He called from half way up the stairs.

Oliver crossed the house to descend into the other basement, the non secure, regular one. He stalked past the home theater, and the jumbled store room, to the gym where he spent the next two hours beating the shit out of a training dummy. His mind taunted him. Playing on a loop, in perfect detail, her leaning into him ever so slightly, cheeks flushed, her lips parted, her breath panting.

And as tight as that made his jaw (and other parts of his anatomy) get. He'd rather have that, than focus on how irritated he was that John, was John; Thea, was Thea; Roy, was Roy; and; Raisa, was Raisa, but he was still Mr. Queen. 

Felicity began her next morning at the house like all the others before it. In the kitchen stuffing her face. Only this time, she'd come up from the basement instead of down from the guest room. 

Raisa sat next to her, cutting her own omelet into delicate little slices. “How are you adjusting to life here?”

“It's great,” Felicity gulped her orange juice.

“And the work Mr. Oliver has set for you?”

“It's really great.”

“And your temporary accommodations?”

“Everything's awesome, Raisa. Really.”

“Excellent. Just one more question. What room would you like prepared for your permanent use, Miss Felicity?”

“What?”

“I could have the green room set aside for you? Or perhaps you would like to chose for yourself?”

“I like the room I have now.”

“I promised Mr. Oliver I wouldn't let you stay in a store room, Miss Felicity. I am a woman of my word.”

“Ok then,” Felicity began tentatively, searching for a loop hole, “I just... won't stay in a store room any more. I'll set up the bed frame, put my mattress on it, put my clothing away in the dresser. It'll be a bedroom then.” She smiled winningly at Raisa, pleased with herself.

“I don't think that was what Mr. Oliver meant.”

“No,” Felicity agreed, “but that was what he said. And as a woman of your word, that is what you are bound to.”

Raisa smiled exasperatedly and put her plate in the dishwasher, “If you insist Miss Felicity. I'll send someone down to help you with the heavy lifting. Promise me you'll leave that. I'm still worried about your leg.”

Felicity flexed her calf tentatively. “Fair enough.”

Raisa flapped a towel at her, “Out, out, I'm done with you.”

Felicity dashed off back to the basement, and while she knew Raisa's words were annoyed, she said them while smiling. 

True to her word Ben was shortly lumbering down the stairs. He hefted the mattress back against the wall and helped her set up the metal bed frame, he helped her maneuver the box spring and the mattress into place. Then slid the dresser next to the bed so she could use it as clothes storage and a pseudo night stand. Finally he dragged the two bookcases to either side of the door. “Perfect,” Felicity beamed, “I've totally got this from here.”

He gave her a nod and a wave and headed back up the stairs.

It was only after he left that she realized she didn't have any hanging storage. _I'll cross that bridge when I get there, I guess_. 

She spent the rest of the morning shuffling between the custom software she was loading on the mainframe and unpacking her books, tchotchkes, clothing, and personal items. That was when she realized her second problem. There was also no bathroom down here.

Heading back up the stairs she started poking around looking for either a shower or a closet. Off a service hallway behind the kitchen she found two doors. One was a pantry full of over sized serving ware and boxes and boxes of champagne flutes, but the other was a laundry room, and through the laundry room was a three-quarter bath. _Just what I need_. 

Back tracking to the kitchen she spotted Raisa heading out the side door. She followed her out onto what turned out be to a rather large cobblestone courtyard boarded by the house, a four car garage, a rather expansive lawn and the driveway which she imagined led back around to the front of the house. Felicity drew a deep breath. This was the first time she'd been outside since Diggle had helped her limp in on Saturday. 

“Why Miss Felicity!” Raisa exclaimed when she popped back around the corner of the house, “What are you doing out here? And without a jacket on?”

“I just had a quick question for you. Where would I find a closet pole, or a rolling rack or something?”

“The Storage Room of Misfit Junk,” came the swift reply as Raisa bundled her back into the house.

“Where's that at?”

“It's the storage room in the basement.”

“No,” Felicity balked, “I'm pretty sure I've been through there.”

“That is the secure storage room,” Raisa said as she unwound her scarf from her neck and hung her coat on a peg behind the door, “I mean the regular one.”

“Oh.” _How many storage rooms does one mansion need?_

“Follow me,” Raisa lead the way out the swinging double doors, through the butler's pantry, down a hallway past the dining room, and to a doorway tucked inconspicuously just down from the doors to Oliver's office. “Here,” Raisa threw the door open and flipped the light switch on, “first door on the left, further down are the home theater and past that the gym. Enjoy your scavenger hunt, my dear.” She patted Felicity on the arm and nudged her down the stairs, before retreating back to the security of the neat and tidy kitchen.

Well, Felicity thought as she cracked the door to the store room. _At least this place is aptly named_. Plus now she figured if she ever needed a third-place crew trophy, a box of three-legged porcelain ponies, or every National Geographic published between 1972 and 1981 she knew where to start looking. Thankfully, in the corner next to a box of Pokemon cards, she found it. A three wheeled, slightly leaning rolling clothes rack. _Perfect_.

Felicity scooched it out of the closet, up the stairs, across the house, and back down the stairs in short order. She popped off the three remaining wheels, pointed the droopy side into the corner and hung her cardigan collection from it. _Done and dusted_. 

Felicity spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening monitoring her baby, flagging certain files for review, checking in on Mr. Xiang's banking activity, and texting Digg.

Just before dinner, her phone buzzed again.

JD: OH GOD PLS MAKE HIM STOP

FS: What's up, buttercup?

JD: We've had 2 meetings already today, now he wants to work through dinner. 

FS: Is that bad?

JD: Usually we're 1 a day and then he hits the bars. He is killing me kid. Wonder what he's so eager to get home to?

Felicity blushed hotly at John's words, and put her phone face down on her bed. She hesitated for a minute before scooping it up and placing it face down in her dresser drawer, and slamming it shut. _It's not you, close that down right now. He's Mr. Queen, your boss! You're the one who thinks about his underpants... or his not underpants. That train does not go both directions._

 _Besides, as Diggle has kindly reminded you, it's time for dinner. Chili and cornbread are waiting_. 

Felicity took a moment to inhale deeply and center herself. Then walked upstairs as calmly and nonchalantly as possible. 

And it continued like this through the rest of the week. Thea and Roy were at the house for dinner on Thursday before heading back out again. 

“We've got to spend this weekend in the city, we're trying out a new bartender in the VIP lounge. I need to be there so I can scare him as much as possible. I have to see how he operates under pressure,” Thea explained as she and Roy donned their coats before they headed out into the chilly winter air. 

“And I have to say this is a giant improvement. Much better than that navy ensemble from last week,” she waved her finger down Felicity's front encompassing her knee length green jersey skirt, white semi-sheer button down and argyle pull over, “less sure about the tights,” they were navy and covered in little lightening bolts, “and house slippers are always a no. But blue is a really good color on you.”

Felicity smiled, “I'll take that under advisement.”

Thea wrinkled up her nose in amusement and threw her arms wide, “Ok, hugs now.” Thea embraced Felicity, and Raisa in turn.

While Raisa was adjusting Thea's scarf and admonishing her about taking her vitamins “Because it's winter now, my sweet.” Felicity turned to Roy and gave him a silly grin, “Are you the hugging kind too?”

Roy averted his gaze and scratched nervously at the back of his neck, “I don't think that'd be such a great idea, Felicity. You know, all things considered.”

She was about to ask him, _All what things considered?_ when Thea reached back for his hand and started towards the door. “We'll be back Sunday night for maybes. Monday for sure.” Then they were gone. 

Felicity watched their taillights fade down the drive, and double checked the deadbolt before heading back to the kitchen where Raisa was rinsing plates for the dishwasher.

“What are you doing?” Felicity asked, her tone more scolding than she intended.

“I'm rinsing the plates. I know we talked about the efficiency of dishwashers, and how rinsing isn't necessary, but this is how I do things.”

“Not that,” Felicity waved her hand, “why are you doing them at all?”

“Because it is my job.”

“But it's my turn.”

“You already did your job, now it is my turn to do mine. Do you enjoy your work, down stairs with the computers?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I enjoy mine, so let me get to it.”

“Raisa,” Felicity said gently, “I want to help. You, and the Queen's, and everyone in this house have done so much for me. I just- I don't want to be a freeloader, you know? Besides,” she muscled between Raisa and the sink, “nobody enjoys dishes.”

She could see her friend beginning to waver, “Let me think on it until tomorrow.”

“But it is tomorrow, we talked about taking turns yesterday.”

“No, we talked about me not calling you 'Miss Felicity' when there are no guests in the house.”

“Well, I meant to talk about this too.”

“Alright,” Raisa set a handful of silverware in the basket of the machine and backed away from the sink, “but you are never a burden to us, Felicity. You are family here.”

Felicity sent her a happy smile, “Thank you, Raisa.”

Felicity would claim later that while the dishwasher was the very top of the line, and extremely quiet, it's still louder than the Bentley Oliver favored. So this is why, as she was scrubbing out a particularly crusty mashed potato pot, it slipped from her fingers and splashed into the sink when Diggle banged the door open. Scaring the daylights out of her.

Her moment of terrified shock turned to surprised glee when she saw his familiar eyes peeking out above his scarf and below the edge of his hat.

“You're home!” she exclaimed, glad Raisa slept on the other side of the house “Here, let me help you with your coat.”

He backed away palms out, “No thanks.”

“Oh come on,” she took another step towards him.

He retreated again, “This is wool,” he pointed to his overcoat, and then to the front of her sweater, “and that is dishwater.”

“Oh for heavens-” Felicity grasped the hem of her pullover in her hands and began to draw it up and over her head. She felt a sharp tugging on her hair, and hissed in pain, before freezing in panic. It was then that Felicity realized her error. She had tried on a necklace just before she came up for dinner, she had also (fatefully) decided to wear her hair up in a slightly higher pony tail than she was accustomed to. And now, she was tangled in her sweater. 

She turned sharply inside the cocoon around her head when she heard the door open and shut again. Two thoughts occurred to her then. One: _If John is home so is Oliver,_ and Two: _What's the difference between semi-sheer and demi-sheer?_ One was nearly see through but only in very bright and direct light, and other was only a little bit see through but all the time. The very nice lady in the store where she had bought her blouse was every specific about which was which. But now Felicity couldn't remember which one her shirt was made from. 

She heard the rustling of fabric indicating that scarves were being unwound, gloves removed, and coats hung up. The sudden silence let her know the precise moment someone had finally taken notice of her predicament.

“Felicity?” it was Oliver, _of course it was_. “What are you doing?”

“I'm trying to remember the difference between demi and semi,” she replied from inside her knitwear. Hoping that no matter the transparence of her shirt, it was dim enough in the kitchen for him to not see anything.

“Is that a computer thing?”

“...Yes?” she could feel her cheeks heat up at the coming admission, “I'm also stuck in my sweater.” She swayed slightly, her back straining a little at holding the unfamiliar position. She felt the firm press of Oliver's hands against her waist to steady her. His fingers skimming along the fraction of skin between the hem of her blouse and the top of her skirt, before gliding up her back to the collar of the sweater. Felicity gasped at the intimate contact, her nipples hardening. _Hopefully, he can't see that either_. 

“Bye, Felicity,” Diggle's voice and retreating footsteps were muffled though the sweater around her ears.

“Night, John,” she called back, her voice thin and strained.

“How did you manage this?” Oliver's voice was close behind her. His fingers gently brushing against the nape of her neck

“There's a necklace, and my hair is different than usual.” She felt the heat from his body as he pressed himself into her, his feet were spread, and his knees slightly bent, so her ass tucked into the vee between his thighs bringing them flush from their hips up. _Oh God_. She bit down on the inside of her cheek.

“Well here, let me-” she felt the delicate chain sliding around on her collarbone, and Oliver's chest brush against her with every inhale. There was a moment of stillness and then something gave, allowing Felicity to pull the sweater up enough to reveal her mouth and the lower half of her face.

“There we go,” he whispered, his breath tickling along her jaw, “I've got you.” _If only._

Felicity felt another sudden slackness in the sweater and was able to get an arm loose, then her pony tail, then the other arm. She felt Oliver's hands drop to her waist as she finally yanked the sweater all the way off and shook it to the floor. Her cheeks were flushed from her thoughts as well as the sauna the inside of the sweater had become. Her hair a frizzy halo around her face. She turned in Oliver's embrace. 

“Welcome back,” he said softly.

She raised her hands from where she'd been clutching them in front of her chest to rest them gently on his forearms, “That's supposed to be my line.”

His mouth kicked up in a half smile, “Well then, consider it said.” He stood up to his full height then, knees brushing the hem of her skirt as he did. “Why are you still up?”

“Dishes,” she briefly considered pointing to the sink, just in case he didn't know how dishes worked. But then she decided to leave her hands where they were.

“Should you be headed to bed?” his hand slowly traveled down her spine bringing her further into his embrace. _What on earth?_ And obviously short circuiting her brain, her breath coming in short.

She tilted her face up towards him, her eyes heavy lidded, their thighs brushing. “I have something I want to show you, Mr. Queen.” 

He stilled then, eyes wide and nostrils flaring, “What?”

“In the server room,” she blurted out, stepping away, the madness broken.

She bent over, snagged her sweater up and didn't bother to see if he was following her.

Felicity hustled down the hallway and down the stairs. Cracking open the door to her room to toss the damp sweater into the hamper. _Keep it together Smoak. He's obligated to you. He made a promise to Golitsyn. That's the only reason you're here_.

She had pushed open the door to the server room when she heard him from the foot of the stairs, “What the hell is this?” She turned to see him gesture to the half open door to her room.

“It's a bedroom, Mr. Queen.” She saw him grit his teeth in irritation, “Raisa told me about her promise. You could have come to me, I'm not that delicate,” she set her jaw against his coming tirade.

“This isn't a real bedroom, Felicity, it's not safe and-”

“It is a real bedroom, it's a bed, in a room. That's how compound words work.”

“Felicity.” _Is he seriously growling at me?_

“It's safest for me. I've gotten the best night's sleep of my whole life in that room,” she hated the way her tears were choking her.

Oliver crossed to her in three long strides, he held her upper arms gently in his hands, “Ok, it's ok. What do you need to feel safe?”

“No windows.” She saw something like understanding flicker across his face.

“Can you tell me why?”

She steadied herself and began in a shaky voice, “My father died when I was four. He was shot by a cop. Not a straight cop, he worked for one of the Mafia families in Vegas.” She flicked her gaze to Oliver's face. He might know the day to day reality of being in the Bratva, but that doesn't mean he really understands the havoc it can wreak. 

“My mom she- she kind of shut down... after. My brother's basically took off, they were mostly grown anyway. They only came back when they needed money. One day, I was almost six, someone they owed showed up. My mom locked me up in the bathroom. She told me to stay quiet and get in the tub and I'd be safe.” She brought her hand up to toy with a button on the front of his shirt. “I'm not sure what happened but I fell asleep in there.” Felicity pulled her arms around herself as if she could ward off the memories the way you would a chill. 

“Then the first time Sasha went to jail she, umm... she kept the curtains shut all the time. She actually boarded up a couple of the windows that faced the street. She got help then, one of my teachers called the authorities and they intervened. And... yeah, I'm not good with windows in the night time,” she continued her confession into his chest, “And I'd prefer to sleep down here. If that's ok.”

He slid his hands off her arms and around her back, pulling her close to him, “Yeah,” he whispered against her hair, “yeah, that's fine. You can stay here until we figure something else out.”

She slumped against him in relief, not wanting to leave the warmth of his embrace, but not wanting things to cross into awkward. _Shouldn't get too accustomed to the feel of his chest either_. “Ok,” she straightened and turned to her desk. “I've got the wireless decoder for the facial recognition program ready to go.”

She had just handed him back his phone after arranging the insides of it to her own satisfaction when it pinged loudly.

“Break it already?”

He flipped the phone over, and bolted up the stairs, snapping his phone to his ear as he shouted at whomever answered the other end, “Roy's locator has been tripped. Who's out in the Glades?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr now! edanyeros.tumblr.com If you want to follow me that would be awesome. I'm still not super sure what I'm doing over there, but I would welcome friends!
> 
> I was also wondering, What's the etiquette around getting prompts? I was thinking I could get some to keep going while I'm rolling the next story around in my head, but I can't promise swift replies. Would that be OK?
> 
> And I KNOW I said Saturday, but I can't help myself. I'm just going to call it Tuesday and Saturday posting now, because WHO AM I KIDDING?!

It was a very long 48 hours. On Friday morning Oliver ordered Thea out of the club and back to the house. 

She replied, very succinctly with, “Go fuck yourself, Ollie.” Before she elaborated, “I need to stay here, ok? This is where he- where he was last and if someone comes with a demand, it'll be here,” she began to furiously wipe the bar clean. “I can't just sit at home in lock-down, and wait.” 

Oliver pulled his sister into a hug, “He'll come back to you, Thea. I swear.”

Oliver sent extra men to keep an eye on Verdant as his part of the compromise. Thea agreed to sleep in the office, and not go outside. 

When he returned to the house he pulled Raisa aside, “Мужчины будут в доме после обеда.”

“Bratva?” she whispered.

Oliver nodded, “Felicity needs to be- I don't want her too-”

“Я буду смотреть за ней .”

He smiled, thankful for Raisa's understanding. He passed a weary hand over his tired eyes. “Balashov will be here.”

“Does she know about her brothers?” _involvement with the Bratva_ didn't need to be said. 

“No she-” Oliver stared guiltily at his shoes, “I haven't had the-”

“Haven't or not wanted to?”

“I just don't think this is the right time.” He kept thinking about her curling up in his lap and falling asleep, as gentle as a kitten. Pressing against her back to untangle her necklace, fingers dancing along her skin. The few times he'd managed to hold her, how badly he wanted to do it again. _I can't jeopardize her faith in me, her trust._ He also didn't want to analyze any of that too closely.

“Our Felicity is a smart girl, she won't hate you for their choices.”

“Any one ever tell you what happened to the bearer of bad news?”

“What bad news?” Felicity had appeared out of nowhere, eyes huge in her pale face, “Did something happen, well, obviously something did happen but did you-”

“Felicity,” he placed his palms against her shoulders, grounding her. “We're still looking for information.”

She swayed a little, “I'm doing that too.”

He leaned in to her, lowering his face close to her face, ”What are you talking about? Who are you talking too?” He realized too late that the feeling rising in this chest at the thought of her out there again, where some one could get her, wasn't rage, but panic.

“Mr. Queen, you're hurting me,” she had braceleted his wrists with her own slender fingers. He eased his grip immediately, but the weight of her hands kept him where he was. “Electronic witnesses. Traffic cameras, Vines people have uploaded with tagged locations, I'm running it through the facial recognition software.

He slid his hands against her's then, so their fingers intertwined. “You are remarkable, Felicity.”

She sent him a cheeky smile, “Thank you for remarking on it.”

It wasn't until he heard the delicate throat clearing that he remembered that Raisa was next to him in the hall. “You should rest Miss Felicity, your leg.”

“Was scratched up nearly a week ago, and I feel awesome now.” Raisa leveled her a look that said more than Oliver would ever know. “Alright, but Mr. Queen has to come to... to bed... I mean in his bed... I mean others should sleep and not just me.”

“I have a meeting at 9:30,” he was really impressed he got that much of a coherent sentence out, considering his brain whited out when he saw her lips form the word “come”.

She untangled their fingers and retreated a step, “Seems a little late for a business meeting.”

“My business keeps strange hours,” she nodded at him then, understanding in her eyes.

“Back to the data mines.” And then she was gone. 

It was nearly midnight when Oliver was able to extract enough promises of help for finding Roy out of the three other Starling captains and down enough celebratory shots of vodka for everyone's liking. Balashov had initially balked at his request for assistance , “This is your internal matter, and not our problem.” The other Captains had quickly fallen in line behind the older man. It wasn't until Oliver pointed out the rash of missing low level Bratva enforcers, and associates that he was able to pull them to his way of thinking.

Raisa was happily chatting with the other captains and their seconds in her native tongue and blushing like a girl at all the attention as she escorted them to the foyer to wait for their drivers.

Oliver noticed how Balashov had held back, it sent his back rigid and was a needed push towards sobriety.

“У вас очень привлекательный дом , капитан.”

Oliver smiled, all teeth, “Thank you sir, I'm very fond of it.”

“У вас есть очень милые гости , а также. Расскажите своему птицу ее друзья ее не хватает.”

Oliver wanted to smash the man's smug smile in with his fist, “Все ее друзья здесь .”

Balashov clicked his tongue, “One can never have too many _true_ friends.” He waved to his Boevik and swept from the house. 

All the lethargy Oliver felt from the many late nights and many shots of liquor was burned from him in a white hot fury. Balashov had all but told him they knew Felicity was in his house. He'd also had the nerve to challenge another Captain in his own home.

“That seemed a little intense,” Diggle stepped in from the shadows.

“We've secured their help, that's what matters for now.”

“Is that why you looked like you wanted to kick that old man down a flight of stairs?”

“He knows Felicity's here.”

Diggle looked taken aback, “How could he? We got her out of China Town. There's no Bratva eyes there.”

“I know,” Oliver ground out, “that's what concerns me.”

“Is that all that concerns you?”

Oliver flexed his jaw, “Of course Digg.”

Knowing sleep would elude him as wound up as he was. He headed to the gym, kicked off his shoes, and stripped to the waist.

He wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed but he'd run through his extended strength routine twice, and was on his second trip up the salmon ladder when he heard the basement door open. He dropped to the ground and when he stood there was a familiar silhouette in the door.

“I couldn't sleep either.” Felicity's hair was piled on her head in a lopsided bun, an ancient MIT hoodie hung to her thighs and the rest of her legs were clad in the same worn flannel pajama bottoms from earlier in the week. He wondered, briefly, if she owned more than one pair.

He stalked closer to her, “So what are you planning to do here?” He couldn't help but smile a little in base masculine pride as her eyes slid over his chest and arms.

“I was hoping to wear myself out.” He flashed a smile then, and knew the instant her word's unintended meaning hit her, as her face flushed deeply. “With the TV.” She flailed her arm behind her at the giant screen. “I was thinking of watching Empire Strikes Back until I fell asleep”

“Sure, get it cued up, I'll be out in a minute.”

Felicity nodded jerkily and headed out. He turned towards the small shower room off the gym, and he knew he didn't have enough time for a full scrub down. But he should at least change into the sweats he kept in there, and out of his ruined suit trousers. Oliver didn't want to take too long though, he was honestly convinced that if he gave Felicity enough of a lead, she'd bolt on him. 

When he emerged a few minutes later she was curled into the farthest corner of the biggest couch, obviously opting to give him his space. He dropped down onto the cushion next to her, as the opening text started to scroll across the screen. “Why this one?”

At his question she took a great hiccuping breath, “Because everything goes terrible in this one, but you know it'll still turn out ok in the end.” 

Oliver turned to look at her and couldn't ignore her watery smile or her shimmering eyes. His hand reached out of it's own volition and he found himself with his fingers on the back of her head, ”Felicity.”

It was seemingly all the urging she needed. Her damp cheek collided with his bare chest and her arms wound around his waist. “I can't help but think this is my fault.” Her voice was thick with tears.

“Felicity, no, no this couldn't-”

“Roy was at my apartment with John the day I left, Roy was with Thea and me the day I got hurt, Roy's the one who cleaned out my old place, and now he's gone.”

“Who could you possibly know that cou-”

“My brothers,” the whispered confession sounded as if it pained her physically to say, “They know a lot of bad people, Oliver. And I know bad people through them.” 

_Balashov. But she doesn't know her brothers are-_ “Who, Felicity?” 

“Mr. Johns, my brother's friend. He's in my building a lot too. I don't know what's in those storage units he has on the second floor, but it isn't Grandma's heirlooms.”

“I don't think they're connected Felicity, but I'll check into it.” 

“I will too.”

They were quiet then. It wasn't until the end credits rolled that Oliver realized he was cradling a sleeping Felicity in his arms and he, himself, felt calm enough to sleep.

Felicity awoke just at dawn on Saturday morning feeling snug and secure pressed between the back of the plush sofa and the solid heat of Oliver's body. Some time during the night he'd maneuvered them into a laying position where they were facing each other. Her hand skimmed over his bare shoulder and against his side. He twitched slightly in his sleep. Ticklish? But as fun as that would have been, Felicity stopped. 

She thought guiltily about how poorly he must be sleeping to pass out on a couch crammed against another person, a stranger. How stressed he must be, with the tension of Roy's disappearance on top of his sworn obligation to her. But then he pulled sleepily on her hip and mumbled against the top of her head in Russian, and she relaxed into him again. Deciding it would be all right for a little while longer. 

When she woke up later she was tucked into her own bed, but she desperately wished she was still on that sofa.

It was late in the afternoon and Felicity and Raisa were at home in lock down. She was really starting to feel the strain of emotions, and the heightened security. 

Oliver and Diggle had been out most of the day and when they had been in there were lots and lots of shouted phone conversations in Russian.

Felicity, for her part, was glued to the computer. Running the facial recognition program against every camera she could find in the Glades; ATMs, store security systems, red light cams. She was leaning back in her chair wondering if she could somehow alter the programming to pick up on Roy's red hoodie instead of his face, and nibbling absently on a stack of Ritz crackers.

“You need to take better care of yourself, Felicity,” she paused, guiltily, cracker half way to her mouth.

“I can't Raisa, God, I'm just sick with worry. What if I get up for half a second and something happens?” she gestured at the screen, “What would we do then?”

“Mr. Oliver and Mr Diggle are both out right now searching for Mr. Roy. Without rest I might add. You shouldn't do this to yourself too.”

“But that's just it,” Felicity said, growing agitated, “I'm not going to be the only one not helping, Raisa.”

“Is this how you help,” Raisa prompted her gently, “with the computers? Well this is how I help, and you're the only one here right now. So away from the computer, into a shower, and then real food. Don't worry Felicity,” she called over he shoulder as she started up the stairs, “they'll get theirs when they get home.”

Felicity pushed back from her desk and laid her head in the circle of her arms. _Ok, Step One: get up. Step Two: shower stuff. Step Three: wash and change clothes. Step Four: figure it out later_.

Step four turned out to be, _Emerge from the bathroom to complete and utter pandemonium in the house_. 

She dropped her towels and dirty clothes in a pile in the hall and ran to the foyer. She spun on bare feet, looking for the source of the chaos. Half way up the stairs, with one arm thrown around Digg's massive shoulder, hung Roy. He held his body carefully, wrapped in a crinkly silver blanket that come with road way survival kits. He was shoe-less, sock-less, and potentially naked under that blanket. What bits of skin she could see were filthy with dirt and smears of blood. 

“Miss Felicity!” Raisa called from the balcony on the second level, “Quickly, it is time now!”

Felicity bounded up the stairs and brushed past Diggle with a murmured, “Sorry.” She skidded around the corner and pounded down the hall to the room she saw Raisa enter.

Raisa was rolling back the duvet with quick and efficient motions. “Help me with those,” she nodded to a pile of white bedding and soft towels piled on the arm of the sofa, “flat sheets first,” she beckoned from the far side of the bed.

Felicity unfolded the linen with a snap of her wrist and flung the far edge across to Riasa.

“And the next,” Raisa instructed as she tucked in the extra sheet on her side. They repeated this again, and then once more before Roy and Diggle appeared at the door way.

“Felicity, please dampen those towels,” Raisa's voice was gentle, her tone firm and controlled.

Felicity dashed into the en suite to wet the towels. When she returned to the bedroom Roy was propped on the bed against a stack of pillows. The crinkly silver blanket was gone, and a sheet draped over his hips and legs.

Raisa was speaking to Digg in low tones, “- so the doctor will be just behind Mr. Oliver and Miss Thea? It was good of him to get her himself. The towels please, Felicity.”

She handed one off to Raisa and kept the other for herself. In tandem they wiped the worst of the mess off of Roy's skin. The flesh of his chest and arms were covered in shallow gouge marks, almost as is someone had driven tiny nails into his skin. “How did this happen?” Felicity didn't mean for the question to come out, but here we are.

“Cat o' nine tails,” Roy ground out, “can you believe that shit? This isn't the middle ages.”

Felicity was frozen in shock as Raisa slipped her arms gently around Roy's midsection and pulled him forward against her ample chest, “His back now please, Felicity.”

Her command snapped Felicity out of her dumbfounded horror and she quickly saw to the grime that smeared the skin of his back as well. She also noted two puncture wounds between his shoulder blades. They seemed different from the other injuries.

“Roy!” came Thea's shout as she threw herself onto the bed next to Felicity. She crawled around her to get closer to her boyfriend. She cupped his black and blue face in her hands and began peppering him with kisses. Whispering things meant only for his ears. 

Felicity backed slowly off the bed and was lingering by the door when suddenly-

“The doctor should be here in about 10 minutes,” _Oliver_. He was every bit as dirty as Roy had been. “I'm going to take a shower. You got this?” he asked Digg, who nodded in the affirmative. Oliver spun on his heel and was gone. 

“I'm going to get soup,” Raisa declared, now confident that Roy was in good hands, “You will be hungry in a while yes? I'm sure no one's eaten dinner,” she said to no one in particular, “If not, then soon enough.”

“Where did you find him?” Thea asked tucking Roy under her chin.

“Abandoned warehouse in China Town,” he cast a glance at Felicity, “just down from your old place actually.”

“What happened to him?” Felicity breathed out.

“He was suspended off the floor and whipped. They let him down a couple of times to beat on him a little. He thinks that was yesterday. We found him chained to a drain pipe in the basement. They'd just left him to the elements.”

Diggle sat gingerly on the sofa, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, neck bent in supplication. “How are you, John?” Felicity asked tentatively.

He looked up at her, a humorless smirk on his face, “It's not me I'm worried about, Felicity. It's Oliver.”

Thea looked over, still brushing kisses along Roy's hairline. “What happened to Oliver?”

“We found people who knew where Roy was but they didn't,” he cleared his throat, “they didn't fell like sharing. Until he convinced them otherwise.”

“Did he pay them?” Thea asked.

“No,” John said looking at the floor, “no, he damn near killed one of them. He did kill the other.”

“Oh God, Ollie,” Thea started to stir from where Roy was pressed against her stiff and unyielding.

“No you stay,” Felicity heard herself saying, “I'll go.” It wasn't until she was outside his bedroom door that she realized, _What do you say to a man who has just killed someone?_ She bit her lip anxiously. _Does it really matter? I'm sure he's killed people before_. 

She thought about knocking on the door for about half a second, before deciding to just go ahead and barrel in. _I promised Thea I would talk to him. So I need to do this, before I lose my nerve_. 

She perched on the end of his (impossibly tall) bed, listening to the shower run in his bathroom. She heard the water cut out and a few minutes later the door opened, Oliver exiting in a cloud of steam, a towel slung low around his hips. “Felicity, what are yo-”

“How are you feeling?” She blurted out, eyes fixed on a painting over his desk.

“Felicity.” _Great, with the growling again_. 

“Thea was worried about you, about what you had to do, and she's worried about Roy too, but she stayed with him because he's hurt,” she drew a trembling breath. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she lowered her eyes to the floor, “God, he's hurt so bad.” Two bare feet entered her vision then as Oliver stepped closer to her. “Oliver, I-” she swallowed and started again, “I just-” 

If Felicity believed in time shifts and extra-dimensional anomalies that's what she would blame. There was no other rational explanation for how she ended up in Oliver's arms. She leaned into him, her palms flat on his back, pulling him further into her embrace. And pressed herself against his heavily muscled chest. She pushed up onto her bare toes and brushed her nose along his jaw. “Are you alright?” she breathed out against his throat.

“Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely his hands settling on the dip of her waist before drifting over the curve of her hips, “I'm fine.”

“Were you hurt?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Yes it does,” she pressed the tips of her fingers into the flesh of his back.

“It's nothing some painkillers won't take care of.” He turned his head then, his stubbled jaw grazing along her hairline, “How are you?”

She laughed in surprise, “I'm fine Oliver. A little tired and a little hungry, but compared to others, I've had a swell weekend.”

His fingers drifted up then, pressed softly into her side, against her shoulder, along the column of her throat, and tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes, “I know you don't have the best feelings of who I am, who we are, in the Bratva. I just wanted to be sure you still felt safe here.”

“Yeah,” she turned her cheek to nuzzle into his warm, rough palm, “yeah, I do.” She heard his sharp inhale, and tried to pull away. She would have too, if his other arm wasn't a band of iron around her waist. “If you're lying to me about being hurt Oliver, so help me-”

“Still fine.” He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, before lowering his mouth to hers for a kiss. 

Felicity froze, for just a split second under his lips, before trailing her hands to rest lightly on his shoulders and surge up into him, opening her mouth and nipping at his lower lip. He made a noise then, low in his throat and halfway a growl when Felicity pulled back, even as his arms braced more tightly around her, “Too fast?” she panted out.

“No,” Oliver replied with a shake of his head, “I told you Felicity, I feel fine.”

Felicity smiled dreamily, “Yes,” she dragging her fingertips over the rise of his pecs, and across his Captain's tattoo before drifting down towards his abdomen, “you certainly do.”

He laughed deep in his chest and captured her mouth in another searing kiss.

Felicity let her hands wander, over the scars, tattoos, and hard muscles of his stomach, petting even lower still to where his towel wrapped around his torso. To run her hands under his navel and across the deep vee of his hipbones. 

“Felicity,” he pulled away with a gasp, hands clenching in her shirt.

“Should I stop?”

“I should say yes,” he panted, eyes squeezed shut, rigid in her embrace. 

Felicity dropped her hands to hang limply at her sides, “Oh of- of course Mr. Queen.” She stepped away,”I'll just- with Roy,” and all but ran out the door. 

Felicity was not running away and hiding in her room, no not at all. And while it might look like that to someone else, this was in fact, a strategic disengagement. _I can't believe I just- and I'm an intruder here. I'm not in the family, and I just barged into his room and then... I should have let someone else go_.

She detoured briefly to snatch her wet laundry off the hall floor where she had dropped it earlier and retreated to her bed. She pulled out her tablet and started mindlessly checking and rechecking, her email, the alerts she set on various police databases, and finishing rest of the stack of Ritz crackers. And absolutely not thinking about a certain Mr. Queen, or his kisses, or his towel, or what's under his towel. 

_He seemed into it? He felt into it. But he obviously wasn't, he froze up. Fight boner maybe? God I can't believe I... and he's my boss! Of course he wants to keep his distance, he's a professional_. Felicity flung herself face first into the mattress and groaned. _I'm not here because he wants me here. I'm here because he's a good man. He's promised Golitsyn he'd look out for me_. 

Later, she was headed back upstairs to get some of Raisa's promised soup when loud voices in Oliver's office stopped her.

“What do you mean 'it was pinned to his back' he didn't have a shirt on!” _Thea_. “To his skin! What kind of sicko would do something like that? What does that even say?”

Felicity crept closer, not wanting to know, and not wanting to eaves drop, but wanting to be there for her friend.

“It says 'insurance policy',” Diggle's voice drifted out to her.

“What does that even mean? Insurance for what?”

 _Oh God_.

“Felicity?”

She whirled, “Mr. Queen.” He clenched his jaw, clearly irritated, “I don't mean to snoop, but I think I know. Maybe?” Felicity darted past him back down the stairs to her room. She snatched up her tablet off her desk and in the same motion spun to start back up the stairs, and ran smack into Oliver's chest.

“Tell me here,” his voice was low and dangerous, his hands settling around her upper arms, “I'm not getting people in this until I know.”

She was about to rail against him for doubting her professionalism, but then she remembered she'd almost had her hands under his towel, and flushed slightly. She shoved the tablet into his hands instead.

His eyes flickered over the surface of her little machine and his brow wrinkled, “What am I looking at here, Felicity?”

“Mr. Xiang.”

“Mr. Xiang?”

“Yeah, you had me look into his bank account? Some wire transfers and suspicious deposits? Well I needed some names to test the police database combing algorithm I wrote, so I just used his info, because it was on hand. But here, see,” she pulled the tablet back into her hands, and brought up a transcript of a police surveillance log, “here, 'insurance policy'. And then here,” she pulled up another file turning the screen towards him, “he doesn't own this property, but his uncle does, isn't that where-”

“Roy was held.” She saw his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed. “I figured it was Triad because the note was in Mandarin, but now-”

“You might have a name.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled, raising his arms to rest his hands along her shoulders. He leaned down to her, their foreheads almost touching, before looking up at her from beneath his lashes, “Felicity, about earlier, I-” _Oh God, he regrets it. Of course he regrets it. Plus he's got to be on pain killers, and those things pack a hell of a punch. A movie night on the couch is not the precursor to a kiss_. Felicity felt panic beginning to rise, and her 'fight or flight' finally kicking in, she opted to flee.

She tossed her hair and shrugged out of his grasp, schooling her features into calm. If he wanted to keep his distance, it was the least she could do for him. He'd done so much for her already. “You should get this information out to the right people as soon as possible, Mr. Queen.”

He jerked upright and took a step away, “Right, of course. May I just-” he waggled the tablet at her.

“Of course,” she nodded, “I have work to do, anyway.”

She left him at the foot of the basement stairs and shut her door behind her before her facade crumbled. _You have to keep it together. He's your boss, you live in his house. Don't screw this up. This is obligation not affection. Casual disinterest is the best you could ever hope for_.

Sunday dawned crisp and clear and Felicity was already elbow deep sorting out her new data combing parameters. She clicked and saved flagged police documents to her tablet. The program was good, but nothing could beat a human touch.

She started the upload of the untranslated surveillance tapes and headed up for breakfast. She was coming around the corner and was nearly into the kitchen when she managed to stop just short of running down Raisa.

“Oh good, I was just heading down to get you.” She followed Raisa back into the kitchen and watched her heft one seriously over laden breakfast tray. She nodded at the second on the table, “That one's yours.”

Felicity followed her dutifully across the house and up the stairs.

“I think this might be a little ambitious for just one person, Raisa.”

“This is for Thea as well. And you and me. We always eat together when we can.” Raisa nudged the door open with her hip and Felicity followed her inside.

“Breakfast,” Thea squealed bouncing a little on the bed, “and Felicity!”

Roy was looking marginally better, for all a night could do. His face was still a mottle of purple and black bruising, but his chest and arms had been wrapped in clean gauze. The whole room smelled vaguely of antibacterial ointment.

Raisa arranged her tray across Roy's legs and pulled a chair close to the bed side. Felicity deposited her's on the dresser, grabbed a plate, and settled onto the couch.

“That was a really good catch,” Roy slurred, whether from the pain or the painkillers she wasn't sure, “with the police transcript.”

“Thanks Roy,” she sent him a smile, “It could just be a coincidence though. I've got some more stuff I'm running now, hopefully it'll give us a confirmation on Mr. Xiang's... involvement.”

“Ollie thought it was good enough, he took off already.” Felicity's heart warmed a little thinking that even though she'd crossed some serious personal lines, he trusted her as a professional.

“When?” Roy asked

“Last night,” Thea bit delicately into her toast. 

Felicity looked at the alarm clock, 7:30, “Shouldn't he be back by now?”

“I don't know,” Thea shrugged, “he knows people who know people. He might not even be in Starling right now.”

“Or he might be poking around looking for breakfast.”

“Ollie,” Thea exclaimed again.

Felicity kept her eyes firmly on her tablet, determined to make use of her time and start hand checking the flagged files. _If I'm boring, I'll think boring thoughts, then any thoughts I have about my boss will also be boring thoughts, and not at all interesting thoughts, like thoughts about his thighs_.

This resolve lasted for all of ninety seconds when said thigh slid into the periphery of her vision as he set himself down on the couch. 

Felicity jerked, not in fear but in... something, low and burning in her gut. She managed to dislodge her plate and as it started to slip off her lap and onto the floor. She jiggled her knees back the other way trying to stop it's descent, when suddenly a hand snatched out and gripped the edge of the dish. “Maybe you should stop trying to multitask?” 

He had leaned in close when he made his grab and, _Oh God, if I turn to him right now and he blinks, I think his eyelashes will hit my glasses_. Felicity cleared her throat and tucked her tablet between her leg and the arm of the sofa, “Thank you Mr. Queen, I've go-” he slid the plate more securely into her lap, brushing the backs of his fingers against the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. Even through a layer of clothing, it felt like a brand. And then it was gone, and he was lifting a forkful of potatoes into his mouth and chatting happily with Raisa. 

Felicity stood then, “Thank you for breakfast, Raisa, it was lovely,” she turned her back to Oliver and stooped to retrieve her tablet. “I've got to be coming, I mean thank you for letting me come... to breakfast. But now I must be going,” she announced to the room at large. 

When she passed him, Oliver put his hand against her leg, stilling her. His fingers tracing small circles on the delicate skin behind her knee. “What are you working on Felicity?”

“Audio translations,” she choked out.

“I didn't know you spoke Mandarin.” Thea lifted a bite to Roy's lips.

“I don't.”

“Well, how are you go-”

“I've wrote a program that does. I'm checking it against the already translated voice recordings for accuracy.” Felicity stepped purposely out of reach of Oliver's fingers. _If he wants keep distance, why is he doing that?_ And set the china gently on the half empty tray on her way out. “There's still a lot of work to do.”

The work was time consuming, but interesting. After translating the audio files into text, she cross referenced the various police transcripts dealing with Mr. Xiang, his business, his family, and his known associates against one another trying to tease out patterns. Two things emerged, One: Mr. Xiang was a human trafficker and massive drug importer, and Two: The Pair. The Pair was referenced over and over again as valuable and irreplaceable, but a pair of what she couldn't figure.

“Earrings,” Thea suggested later from where she was perched on the bed side chair, “earrings come in pairs.”

“Lots of things come in pairs,” Roy grumped, “pants come in pairs, I don't think they're talking about boxer shorts.”

“I don't think 'pair of pants' is actually a phrase in Mandarin,” Felicity began.

“Alright fine,” Thea interrupted, eyes on Roy, “what do you think it is.”

“Two of those vases, the really old ones, blue.”

“Ming?” Thea suggested.

“Yeah, he's an importer right? Of illegal stuff? Aren't they illegal to remove from China?”

Felicity shrugged, “It's as good a guess as any, I'll head down and start looking for illegally imported antiquities, and those who would acquire them.”

Thea ran her hand through Roy's hair as Felicity retreated from the room, “You're so smart, and handsome. And surprisingly well-read.”

“There are books in the Glades, Thea,” she heard the annoyed affection in his voice, as she slipped down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google translations
> 
>  
> 
> 1\. "Men will be in the house after dinner."  
> 2\. "I'll look after her."  
> 3\. "You have a very attractive house, Captain."  
> 4\. "You have a very nice guest as well. Tell your bird her friends miss her. "  
> 5\. "All of her friends are here."


	6. Chapter 6

The week ground on and Felicity felt no closer to figuring out what The Pair was or where the Insurance Policy was or how that related to Roy, and no one else was any closer either. Roy's idea about antiquities had been good, but ultimately wrong. Unfortunately, no better ideas were forth coming. 

She'd printed out a grainy surveillance photo of Xiang and hung it above her desk. It helped her focus when she could feel the first stirrings of hopelessness creeping in. And while that helped, Felicity was starting to feel a little powerless too, and it wasn't an emotion she felt often. She often felt scared, and worried, sure. But never like this, like she was just treading water. 

She was also starting to feel a little bit claustrophobic. Her car had arrived at the house with all her other possessions, but John had strongly suggested she stay at the house until the threats against her were eliminated, which wasn't going to happen until this situation with Roy was sorted out. 

Felicity understood. Her brothers were a known evil. Whatever had happened to Roy wasn't random, but it lacked a clear motive. It left the whole house on edge.

And then there were her feelings about Oliver. He had made his intentions clear, professional distance, Bratva obligation. And Felicity was a big girl, she could handle that, and she would. Oliver had never broken his word to her. He'd kept her safe, he'd sheltered her. She'd seen first hand what he'd done for Roy to ensure his well-being, the vigilance with which he protected his sister. Even though she'd been in his house for such a short time, she'd come to trust him implicitly. So, Felicity compartmentalized it all away. The night on the couch was stress and exhaustion. The kiss in his room was adrenaline and oxycodone. Easy.

Except, he wasn't distancing himself from her. For the first few days after their... encounter in his room, he seemed to look for excuses to touch her, the basement when she handed off the first batch of information about Xiang, and the next morning he had his fingers on the back of her leg. Which, she would shamefully admit, had been rather prominent in her daydreams ever since. After the breakfast in Roy's room, she had managed to avoid what would surely be a performance of critical mass levels of awkwardness by sending all her findings straight to Digg, so he wouldn't come in search of her. 

She'd also taken to hiding out in Roy and Thea's room. Which turned out to be quite mutually beneficial. Felicity liked the company while she worked and Roy was bored out of his mind after Thea went back to managing Verdant. 

She had suggested they start learning Mandarin together, in the down time between data packets, as an alternative to the tedium of the twenty-four hour news channels. And she would much rather do that, than spend any unoccupied time thinking too hard about her recent life choices. But sometimes, introspection couldn't be avoided. 

Which is how she found herself one chilly Sunday afternoon on the far side of the formal gardens in a gazebo by a duck pond.

“Hey,” Thea bounded up, breath forming little puffs in air, her cheeks rosy.

“No one's allowed in the fortress of solitude.”

Thea put one polished boot on the bottom step, “I come bearing gifts.” Felicity cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her, “Oliver's best For Company Only vodka.”

“Oh well, then in that case, welcome aboard,” Felicity shoved over to the other side of the bench making room for Thea.

“I can't believe you're all the way out here.”

“I know I'm from the desert, but I can still appreciate a good frost in very small measures.”

“No I mean, you're out of range for the wi-fi.”

Felicity looked forlornly at her tablet, “That has definitely been a drawback.”

“Any particular reason?” Thea took a sip and handed the bottle off to Felicity.

“I'm starting to feel like this is the furthest I'll ever get away from the house.”

Thea looked back at the imposing gray facade of the mansion, “You have been a little Rapunzel-y in there, haven't you?

Felicity took a swig and coughed at the burn, “I'm really grateful for everything that's been done, but it's just a little-” she gestured in front of herself with the bottle.

“Careful.”

“I was thinking more like 'oppressive'.”

“No, I mean careful with the vodka.”

Felicity stilled her hand, “I'm grateful Thea, honestly. And I am really glad I'm here, despite everything.”

“Of course you are,” Thea replied, taking the bottle from her. “Who wouldn't be? I'm delightful.” Felicity smiled, tucking her hands back into her coat pockets. “So, why the Fortress of Solitude?” Thea continued.

Felicity shrugged, “I dunno, soul searching I guess?”

Thea passed her back the vodka, “Any stunning revelations you'd like to share?”

Felicity downed another gulp, and grimaced. “I was just wondering what kind of person this makes me?” Thea hummed encouragingly, “The man I've trusted my life with is a felon.”

“He isn't though.”

Felicity tilted her head, “What do you mean?”

“Felon would mean he's been convicted of something. He hasn't.”

“Ok,” Felicity corrected, rolling her eyes, “the man I trusted my life to isn't a felon, but he could be.”

“Yep,” Thea chirped, popping the 'p'.

“Why aren't you more freaked out by this?”

Thea shrugged one delicate shoulder and grabbed the bottle back from Felicity. “Look who you're talking to.”

Felicity kicked up the corner of her mouth in a grin. “That stuff is terrible, I can't believe Mr. Queen drinks it.”

“It is a bit like lighter fluid, I admit,” Thea capped the bottle tightly before slipping it into her jacket pocket. “What's with the 'Mr. Queen' stuff any way?”

“He's my boss,” Felicity hoped that Thea would attribute the redness of her cheeks to the cold and not her highly inappropriate (and increasingly acrobatic) late night fantasies.

“Technically he's everyone's boss.”

Felicity could still vividly remember the last time she'd used his given name. He'd been near naked and damp and she'd been pressed against him, and then- She closed her eyes and shook her head. “It's important to maintain boundaries Thea.”

Thea gaped at her before a sly grin tugged at the corner of her mouth, “Boundaries, so that's what we're calling it now? I call him Oliver.”

“You're his sister.”

“John does too. So does Roy.”

Felicity exhaled slowly, “He hasn't asked me.”

“He hasn't asked you what?”

“To call him- Oliver,” she hated the way she hesitated over his name, “I assumed he wanted to keep his distance.”

Thea laughed then, and kept on laughing until Felicity passed amused and went to annoyed, “You are so dumb- the pair of you, oh god.”

“I am not,” Felicity said, but there was no bite in her words. “I happen to be quite gifted.”

“Come on,” Thea stood, “I was sent out here to get you. It's almost dinner, Raisa wants your help.”

Oliver was in the basement gym training with Diggle and Roy. He was still working the kinks out from a fight earlier in the week. He smoothed his palm against the healing slash on his ribs. Chen had managed to get one good slice in before Oliver put a bullet between his eyes. 

He was glad to see Roy's willingness to be put through his paces so soon after his ordeal. His sister needed someone like that in her life, resilient, strong. And Roy needed someone like her, understanding, tender- _you better shut that train of thought right down_. 

“Hey are you all right man?” John asked from the far side of the sparring mat, “You looked a little in your head there for a minute. Maybe you should take a power nap or something?”

“I'm alright. I've got this call to Golitsyn tonight, about Balashov and his crew.”

“Has Felicity given you the latest translations?” Roy called down from the salmon ladder.

Oliver grit his teeth. He hadn't seen her since that breakfast in Roy's room. He hadn't been alone with her since that scene in the basement where she'd shut him out. He hadn't kissed her since- “No Roy,” he ground out, “It must have slipped her mind.”

“If you want I can get them for you,” the young man continued obliviously, “She's up in my bedroom all the time.”

“What?” Oliver's voice had gone gravelly and low, his laser intensity focusing one hundred percent on his protege.

“She's super smart, and she's super bored. We're learning Mandarin together.”

“I thought she was doing the... whatever... with the police records?” Diggle asked.

“She is,” Roy heaved himself up another notch on the ladder.

“Why Mandarin?” Digg continued.

“I don't know,” Roy swung his legs, gathering momentum, “it's what we have access too.”

Oliver locked eyes with Diggle, and breathed in slowly through his nose. Oliver's teeth clenched and his knuckles went white. “Maybe you should teach her Russian,” John went on, “it might be more practical.”

Roy clunked up another rung of the salmon ladder, “Probably, but neither of us speak it.”

“Neither of you speak Mandarin.”

“No,” Roy puffed out, “but her computer does.”

“Is that what you do all day in your room, Roy?” Oliver bent down and picked up an Eskrima stick, flipping it end over end in front of himself. “Gather close around the computer screen? Practice your vocabulary?” He had intended for his tone to be 'mocking' and 'good natured', but instead it came out a lot closer to 'you better not' and 'you're gonna die'.

Roy dangled from the top of the salmon ladder, “It's not like that, I love Thea. But she's back at work, and Felicity says she focuses better with people around, so we've been hanging out. Did you know she can count cards? Her dad taught her.”

Oliver closed his eyes in an attempt to quell his growing frustration. _And why wouldn't she spend time with Roy? It's not like... anyone else... is hanging around trying to get close to her. Maybe if you... And you know Roy better than that. You hardly know anything about Felicity. Except how soft her eyes get when you've kissed her, and that breathy noise she makes when you bite her lip, the gentle give of her curves when she's pressed against you._

He tossed his Eskrima stick to the side, “I'm showering.”

“Good,” Raisa was at the door, “all of you should clean up, dinner's in fifteen minutes.”

Dinner turned out to be a more formal affair in the dining room, much to Felicity's dismay. She'd gotten used to the family meals in the kitchen with just her, Raisa, Thea, and Roy. John and Mr. Queen were usually to busy to join them.

After much needling and complaining from her and Thea, Raisa agreed to serving family style in the formal dining room, and staying for the meal. “Don't expect me to make a habit of this though,” she'd warmed both of them.

“Deal,” Thea quickly agreed, “but you have to sit at the head of the table.”

“My sweet, I hardly think that is-”

“I'm in Thea's corner on this,” Felicity smiled sweetly.

“Why don't you just sit right here,” Thea pressed Raisa into the head chair, “and Felicity can get what's left?”

Felicity was headed back to the table which was already abundantly laid with the basket of bread rolls, when she heard the other diners arranging themselves into their seats. Raisa was still ensconced in the head chair, Oliver and Diggle down the far side, Thea at the other end and Roy next to her. So that left Felicity next to Raisa, and across from Oliver, and spending the entire meal trying to keep her head down. She was finding her china pattern _fascinating_ so no one could see how pink her cheeks were. 

“I still don't like you sleeping in the basement,” Thea's proclamation was so sudden Felicity slopped a little too much dill sauce on her salmon.

“What?” Felicity squeaked.

Thea continued, “I know you have your reasons, but it's a basement, there's no escape windows if the house were to catch fire. And that door is steel! Can you even imagine?”

Felicity cleared her throat and set the sauce bowl aside. “The steel door actually comforts me a great deal,” she sent Thea a smile, “and I've already told you, I feel weird sleeping in a guest room when I'm not a guest.”

“But it wouldn't be a guest room. It'd be your room,” Thea insisted. “You have slept in there before, you didn't get immediately banished down to your lair.”

Felicity swallowed and bit her lip. _Why hold back? They've seen all your other demons_. “The first night I slept on the floor of the closet.” Raisa patted the back of her hand reassuringly.

“Well, what about the second night?” Thea pressed on.

Felicity closed her eyes and breathed deep. Chastising herself for seeking out the notes of Oliver's cologne. _I haven't been this close to him since..._ “The second night I had been... attacked and I was... medicated,” she said diplomatically, folding her hands in her lap, “I prefer the basement over that.” 

“And the second time you fell asleep that night?” Oliver questioned her. Leaning in, his eyes dark, “After your phone call. The drugs had worn off by then.” 

“Well, yes,” Felicity said clearing her throat, feeling her face begin to flush at the memories, “that's true, but I feel that there were... extenuating circumstances.” She risked a quick glance up at Oliver, her eyes skipping from the hard lines of his forearms, to his broad shoulders, the hint of a beard on his firm jaw, she couldn't miss the circles under his eyes, the pinched corners of his mou- _Don't look at his mouth!_ She flicked her gaze over to Thea's openly inquisitive face. “And I don't think those circumstances will be repeating themselves.” 

Thea tilted her head towards Oliver before sliding her eyes back to Felicity. “If all you need is a roommate, I don't think that will be a problem. There's a sofa in my room. Roy and I are already in there and I don't think that Roy would...” 

Oliver cleared his throat cutting off Thea mid thought, “Roy is still convalescing Thea.” 

“Absolutely,” Felicity was quick to agree. Grateful that Oliver was giving her this out. “We can't interrupt Roy's recovery. It's definitely best if I stay down in the bas-” 

“With me,” Oliver said with a smile, “Felicity will be staying with me.”

“Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary, Mr. Queen.”

“Really?” Thea piped up from the opposite side of the table, “Are you saying a fire trap is preferable to my brother?”

“No, of course not!”

“So then it's settled,” Diggle chimed in, sending a sly glance to Thea.

“I'd just prefer a death trap mattress to an unfamiliar sofa is all.”

“Who says you'll be on the couch?” Felicity had read before in books about some poor woman being 'melted with a look' and she'd never put a lot of stock in it. Until now.

She sipped at her water and met Oliver's gaze head on, “Well, if I'm in the bed, then where are you? I didn't know you were after a night on the couch, Mr. Queen.”

The grin he sent her was positively salacious, “I don't mind a turn on the couch, every now and again.” She could feel her cheeks heating at his obvious reference to their night in the home theater. “But the bed's big enough for two.”

Felicity's fingers began to tremble in her lap, her breath coming in short and she desperately hoped it wasn't audible to the rest of her dining companions.

“Felicity,” her head snapped up as Raisa stood, “could you help me gather the dishes? But it's my turn to wash.”

“Of- of course,” she jerked awkwardly to her feet. Clumsy in the aftermath of Oliver's intensity. she'd almost lost her balance when she felt Roy's steadying hand on her elbow. She sent him a smile, “Thanks.”

He was about to open his mouth and reply when Oliver cut in, “I'll help too Raisa,” he stood smoothly. Felicity turned, before he could catch her gaze again. 

Clearing away dishes and sorting out leftovers went about as well as to be expected. Which in this case means 'not well at all'. There were subtle brushes of his fingertips against her hands and arms as they gathered plates and serving dishes on the massive counter for scraping, boxing and storing. 

Felicity was balanced on the ball of one foot and straining for a lid to the rice container when she felt a warm, calloused palm on the sliver of skin at the small of her back where her shirt had ridden up. 

“Let me,” he breathed against the shell of her ear. Felicity was about to step clear when she felt the full length of him press against her. His feet braced on the outside of her own, her backside pressed into his groin. His powerful arm slid past her fingers to snatch the lid off the high shelf. He set it delicately down in front of her and stepped back. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, not turning around. She didn't see the smug grin on his face.

After the last of dinner had been taken care of and Raisa was elbow deep in her dish gloves. Felicity excused herself to the basement.

Oliver's hand snaked out, catching her elbow from where he was lounging against the island. “Roy says you have new information. Is this true?”

“Yes.” _Stop sounding breathy, you are not a damsel in distress._

“Anything I need to know, Felicity?” _Oh, God, the knee shivering, growly voice._

“I have another theory I'm working on for what the Pair is.”

“And what's that?” He'd placed one hand on the flare of her hip.

“Girls,” she gulped out as she caught another whiff of his cologne. _Why does he always smell so good?_

“What?”

“He's a human trafficker as well as a drug smuggler,” Felicity rushed on, trying to maintain her composure, “maybe it's people.”

He tugged gently on her elbow again, bringing her more fully into his space, stopping her when she was standing between his spread legs. “Were you planning on giving this information to me any time soon?”

Felicity was positive that the only reason the noise she made was even classified as 'human' was because a human was the one that made it. “Of course Mr. Queen,” she saw his jaw tick, and felt his hand clench against her arm, and she saw red. 

_What does he want from me? He's the one playing hot and cold. Wanting to keep everything professionally polite and then telling me he wants me in his bed._ She pitched her voice low and husky, “You can have whatever you want from me, sir.” Then she mentally high-fived herself when she saw his cheeks flush and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. “I've loaded everything on my tablet for you, Mr. Queen,” she called over her shoulder as she pushed away from him and headed down the stairs. 

He met her at the door to the computer room. “I'm calling Mr. Golitsyn tonight. He wants a progress report of your situation.”

Felicity tilted her head to the side, “I don't think Dmitri Golitsyn has ever used the phrase 'progress report'.”

Oliver's mouth kicked up in a smile, “No, but with the time zones the call won't be until late.” He stepped more fully into the room, the look he sent her loaded with meaning. Too bad Felicity wasn't sure what he meant by it. 

She nodded solemnly, “Of course Mr. Queen.” She saw his jaw tick again. “Does it bother you?” At his perplexed look she continued, “When I call you 'Mr. Queen'?” His eyes darkened then and she went on, stepping closer to him, “I can stop if you want. All you have to do is ask.”

“Is that all it takes, Felicity?” his hand reached out to slide up her arm, to her shoulder, along her neck, and across her cheek, his voice heavy, ”A polite request?”

She nodded, not wanting to ruin where ever this was going with a verbal blunder. “Yes, Mr. Qu-”

“Oliver,” his thumb dragged across her lower lip.

“Of course,” she exhaled and tried to relax despite the tension low in her belly.

He smiled, a show a teeth, and drew his hand along her collar bone, down her arm and away. “The tablet, Felicity?”

She turned and fumbled it off the table and into her hands, before passing it off to him. 

He nodded his thanks and left her with a heated look.

Felicity closed the door, lowered herself into the chair and tried to not hyperventilate. 

_Ok. Ok, we are apparently playing “hot” right now. So I just need to have a game plan to keep everything above board, and respectable. I'll be fine. I can think my way out of this._ She wasn't entirely sure the butterflies in her stomach would agree. _Step One: Wrap up tonight's data combing. Step Two: Head up when he's on the phone, but it's not too early to go to sleep. This has to look natural. Step Three: Make a couch bed, fall asleep before he gets up there. There's no arguing with a sleeping person, right?_

She inhaled, calming visibly, and fired up her program.

She crept up the stairs at ten past ten and walked on silent feet to where the hall met the foyer and listened. She strained her ears to try and hear anything out of Oliver's office.

Felicity knew that she liked the sound of Oliver's voice, it was deep and lovely. She especially liked it when his eyes got dark and it took on that growly quality she was becoming increasingly fond of. But Oliver, speaking in Russian? Was overwhelming in a way she wasn't braced for. That weak legged, trembling feeling was back and she grit her teeth against it. She stood suddenly heading to the kitchen to march up to his room. _Don't go wobbly at this,_ she scolded herself, _if something happens it won't be about you. It'll be irritation and dropped phone calls. He'll want distance again in five minutes and you'll be angry you wasted this on him._

She all but sprinted up the stairs and threw the door open with a slam. She figured anger and temper were better than the blushing foolishness she'd been reduced to. “The iron has entered my soul,” she whispered her Baba's mantra. And started arranging the sofa to her liking. That done, she poked her head back into the hallway listening for his echo-y voice. She nodded once to herself pleased this was working out so well. 

She went to brush her teeth, when she realized she'd left her tooth brush in the laundry room bathroom. _Oh well, one night won't make all my teeth fall out._ She turned to change into her pajamas when she realized in her haste and anger she stormed up here with out those either. _Just sleep in your clothes, Smoak._ But no part of the tights, flouncy chiffon skirt, or blouse and cardigan were particularly suited as sleep ware. _No time for dithering._

She darted down the back kitchen stairs, careened to the basement door and rattled down the metal treads as she sprinted to her bed, snatched up her flannel PJ pants, and a camisole before pivoting and bolting back upstairs, only taking one small detour for her tooth brush. She pushed open the door to Oliver's room and could have nearly passed out with relief. Still empty.

She retreated to the bathroom to brush her teeth, change and take her hair down. She flicked out the bathroom light and reentered the dim bedroom which was exactly as she left it, except for two things. One: Someone had the audacity to unmake the first rate couch bed, and Two: That person was naked from the waist up and in bed reading her tablet. 

“What happened to my bed?” she blurted out.

“It's still here,” he gestured absently to the (frankly rather expansive) empty half of the bed.

“Not your bed, my bed.”

“Felicity,” his voice had gone growly again, it was too dim to see if his eyes were dark too.

“Fine,” she tried to gather her earlier resolve as she strode purposely to the vacant side of the bed. With one hand she flicked back the sheets, comforter and coverlet before levering herself on to the mattress. She plunked her glasses down on the side table and scrunched the pillow against her bicep and curled around it, riding the very edge of the massive bed. 

“Felicity,” he sounded irritated. _Good_.

“Good night, Oliver.”

He let out a laugh then, low and much closer than she was anticipating. She had just started to relax when she suddenly felt his arm around her midsection and she was being dragged across the sheets into the cradle of his body. Her head against his bicep, his hand flat against her stomach where her shirt had ridden up, her hips pressed into his lap. “Good night, Felicity.”

 _Why fight him? Besides, it's nice here._ And it was nice, his arms firm, his breath even against her ear. _Just need to scootch a little for maximum comfort._ She wriggled experimentally in his grasp. His hand twitched on the soft skin of her belly as he reflexively drove his hips forward into the curve of her ass. _Oh God, that's his..._

“Felicity,” this time, the growl held warning. _No way, he doesn't get to be shitty about this. He insisted._

She pressed back more firmly, driving her hips into him, and arching her spine a little for good measure, “Is there something you want, Oliver?”

The arm under her shoulders flexed as he drew his hand around her body and turned her towards him, “Yeah, actually there is.”

His mouth descended to her's and in a few short moments Felicity was left a gasping, squirming mess. His hand had slid up underneath her shirt and he was plucking at the tight peaks of her breasts. He left a trail of hot kisses along her cheek and jaw, nosing against her ear, nipping at her earlobe. She turned more fully to him and gasped as his fingers slid under the elastic of her flannel pants, ghosting along the waist band of her cotton panties. 

“Felicity,” there it was again. His mouth hot on her neck.

“Yes,” she answered breathily, only half a question. Her fingertips pressing into his biceps.

“You said all I have to do is ask,” his clever fingers were skimming between her thighs over the increasing dampness in the center of her underpants. 

“Yes,” she breathed out again, her back arching, her hips chasing the elusive sensation of his fingers against her.

He worked his hand under the waistband of her panties and dragged two calloused fingers against her slick flesh. She drew in a harsh breath and jerked her legs further open, anything to encourage his questing fingers. He pulled his other hand away from her breast, and gathered up her shirt, and yanked it off her body. He ranged over her then, huge and powerful. The crisp hair on his chest brushing against her stiff nipples while he worked her gently with tiny flicks and pets of his fingers. 

“Oliver, please...” she flexed her hips against his hand, not knowing what she was asking him for.

He knew. He slid one thick finger into her and she gasped, driving her nails into his biceps. He slid lower on her body then, dragging his lips and tongue down her throat across the tops of her breasts to the valley between them. He licked at the sensitive undersides of her breasts, nuzzling against her. Felicity flexed her fingers against the tightly coiled power of his arms and moaned. 

He bit down gently and flicked his tongue on the peak of her breast while curling his finger inside her and pressing against her clit, whispering against her skin. She came then. Shuddering apart and heaving great gasps of air. Her hands slid from his arms to lay limply at her sides. Barely able to lift her hips when he tugged her pajama pants and underwear down and off. He reared up then between her wantonly spread thighs, spanning each with a massive hand.

“Felicity,” this time it was a question, supplication.

She nodded but then realized he might not be able to see the subtle gesture in the dim light, “Yes,” she finally found her voice.

He braced one hand next to her shoulder and began to ferret around in the bed side drawer, clearly after some form of protection.

“I'm allergic to latex,” she slurred out, still riding the high of her orgasm.

“I got latex free.”

“You got a whole set of pick and mix in there?” _Of course he does_.

“No,” he settled back onto his heels, deftly rolling the condom on. She suddenly realized he wasn't wearing any pants. “Digg told me.”

“So you bought latex free condoms?” she couldn't help the incredulous tone her voice had taken on, “Have you been planning this?”

His grin was remorseless, and smug, “Yes, I have Ms. Smoak.” His hands ran up her legs and cradled her hips, gently stroking the sensitive skin where her thigh met her body. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” she breathed out, hooking her legs behind his hips and opening herself to him.

He slid his hands under her ass and gently angled her up onto the tops of his thighs. And pushed into her slowly. 

Felicity gasped at the intrusion, honestly not expecting it to be so... overwhelming. She tried to relax, and slow her breath, and calm her heart but it was so, so much. He was so heavy, and so big, and she was so very full. 

He didn't get very far before she was pushing against his knees, “Oliver, I-” He stilled instantly as she winced and closed her eyes. One of his hands was steady on her hip, the other fisted in the sheets above her shoulder. “I just need a minute,” she lifted her leg, hoping to give him more room, but she moaned when her actions pulled him further inside of her.

His hand slid then, from the curve of her hip to where their bodies joined together. He pressed up, circling her clit. Felicity relaxed, even as her belly tightened. She opened her eyes, his handsome face a scant few inches above her, and gave him a dreamy smile.

“Better?” His body was tense and rigid, his jaw clenched, but his tone was gentle. 

“Yeah. Are you? You seem not good.” She gestured limply at the twitching muscles in his abdomen and how his shoulder was bunched were he was stretched out above her. 

“Don't worry about me,” his voice changed to harsh and panting. He slid in another fraction of an inch, “don't worry about me at all.” He pressed his face into the side of her neck and nipped at the delicate skin behind her ear. 

He shifted then, drawing both of his hands up the length of her calves to cup the backs of her knees, angling them up towards her shoulders. He drew his thighs up to bracket her hips, pulled back slightly and drove into her. Felicity let out a strangled moan, her voice catching at the end. And when he could go no further, he maneuvered her legs high around his waist and caged her in with his arms. His lips a scant breath from hers, “Hold on to me, Felicity,” he pulled out experimentally, “don't let go.”

At his encouragement she locked her ankles in the small of his back and wound her fingers around his neck.

He was fast then. Faster than she was expecting at least, his hips pistoning at a furious pace. Oliver's thrusts forced gasps and moans in turn from her throat. She had to break away from him mid-kiss. Turning her face to the side on a gasp, suddenly unable to do anything but cling to his broad shoulders. 

She felt the tightening then in her belly, and she realized delightedly that she was about to come again. But, if his flushed face and increasingly erratic rhythm were any indication, so was Oliver. Felicity snaked a hand down to where he was sliding in and out of her, and began to slip her finger across her clit. Constant pressure was made impossible as his increasingly forceful thrusts jarred her body.

“Felicity,” he ground out then, face pressed once again to her neck. He breathed deeply of her scent and spilled himself into her. Her own orgasm quickly followed. This one more languid than the first. Oliver bit and sucked at the skin of her throat and along the tops of her breasts again, before rolling away from her with a shuddering sigh to dispose of the condom. 

Felicity's eyes drifted closed, lulled by the post orgasmic haze and the heat of Oliver's body where he was once again pressing into her back. Tugging her into the shelter of his arms, and she slept.

Oliver almost didn't make it into the shower the next morning. When he awoke to an armful of beautiful woman he almost called Digg to cancel whatever was in the schedule for today so he could spend the rest of the morning in bed with Felicity. 

She rolled in his arms as he was about to reach for his phone to do just that. She suddenly slung her leg across his abdomen and lifted her body to straddle his. He settled his hands onto the curve of her hips and arched up slightly against her.

“What are you thinking about?” her voice was low and rough with sleep. 

“I'm thinking that was the best night I've had in a long time,” he sent her a cocky grin.

She leaned in for a lingering kiss as he slid one hand up her back and through her hair. Where their previous kisses had been awkward fumbling and a lot of surprise, this one was smooth and practiced. Felicity parted her lips against his. Oliver was thrilled she wasn't playing coy. She sighed against his lips as his tongue flicked over the roof of her mouth. They parted then, and he pressed her further into his chest, encouraging her to slide down the length of his body, to where he was aching for her. He trailed his lips along her cheek, pressing feather light kisses to her ear. When he breathed against her, she shivered, “You aren't very experienced are you?”

Felicity's back went ram-rod straight and she locked her knees. She drew her hands to the front of his chest and began to push futilely against him.

“Hey” he pulled his head away. Far enough to be out of range of her flailing arms, “I didn't mean anything by it, I was ju-”

“When would I have had a chance Oliver?” she was furious, “When my drug addict brothers were in the house? In the middle of my never ending gawky phase? I ran away to college at 17! I've been continually employed since Junior High School! When would I have the time to get a boyfriend to get over the awkward fumbling?”

“You're not bad at it,” he rolled his eyes in annoyance, “I just want to know how I should take this with you.” His hands coasted back to her hips.

“What?”

“I just don't want to rush you-”

She cut him off, “One: Inexperience doesn't necessarily equal ignorance. Two: Maybe it's not about you taking anything.”

“What does that mean?” his brow furrowed.

“How about you let me set the pace?”

He rolled her onto her back and loomed over her, smiling at her wolfishly, “What kind of pace are we talking about?” he placed his mouth on her collarbone, “A little second base, hickey, make-out?”

She threaded her fingers into his hair and brought her mouth against his ear, “I'm thinking a little... later. I've still got a full eight hours to put in.” He pulled away then, eyes dark, jaw flexing. “Maybe you should go to the gym,” she wriggled out from underneath him and pulled her jammie pants back on, fishing around under the bed for her tank top. “You know, hit it out? Or maybe a real breakfast!” she called to him from the door way, adjusting her glasses on the end of her nose, “Raisa's always ragging on me for my eating habits. I'm sure you're no better! Don't forget to take one of John's little pills!”

Oliver climbed out of bed and hustled (bare assed and half hard) into the shower. He was pretty sure it was the first time he'd ever been turned down for morning-after sex. And he was damn sure he didn't like it. What he liked even less was the haste with which Felicity had left.

~*~*~*~*

Oliver paced in the shadows of the basement warehouse under Verdant. It was Roy's turn to lean on the Triad associate that had been identified as one of his abductors. They'd been interrogating Mr. Lee all morning.

Roy had just landed another punch to the man's face when he smiled and said, “Not so easy now, is it? Man to man. Is that what your boss is after? A man?” He got a quick jab into Lee's ribs, “You feel like talking, Lee? Want to let me know why your boss is snatching Bratva off the street?”

Lee coughed and spit up a mouthful of blood, “Don't flatter yourself, you aren't a pretty enough girl for him.” He nodded his head towards the darkness, “Mr. Queen, on the other hand, he's pretty en-”

His head snapped back when Roy landed another hit to the side of his jaw.

“Enough,” Roy stepped away immediately. Oliver liked the complete authority with which he ran his piece of the Bratva. 

“Oh no!” Lee said mockingly, “Mama's angry with you! Aren't you the favorite anymore Roy? I did hear that maybe you'd been replaced? That Queen's got a new little whore around the hou-” he was cut short by Oliver's sudden appearance and his massive hand closing around Lee's throat. He maneuvered the swiftly purpling man in to a plastic lawn chair by a rickety folding card table in the center of the room, releasing him with a shove. Lee coughed and sputtered almost toppling over in the chair, but he quickly regained his composure. “Well, as fun as this has been,” Lee said, placing his hands on the table to push himself to standing, “I've got to go, the girls at the hotel need me.”

“Sit down,” Oliver ground out.

Lee's smug smirk was distorted by the swelling already starting on one side of his face, “You might be the boss of Mighty Mouse over there but let me tell y-” Lee screamed then in pain and terror as Oliver unsheathed a knife from his boot and drove it through the back of the man's hand and into the surface of the table.

“I said 'sit down'.”

Lee lowered himself slowly back to the chair shaking in shock and horror, unable to pull his eyes from where his blood was spilling out of his hand and pooling on the table. “I don't know anything, I swear it! I watch the girls at the Pink Lotus Hotel, I don't know anything else.”

Oliver stood to his full height, “You are going to tell me what I want to know.”

“I don't know anything I swear!” 

Oliver gripped the handle of the blade and twisted the point against the table. “I think you do.”

“I don't, I don't! I swear to God! I've never heard of a Xiang!” Lee was starting to shake and sweat in his seat, huge tears running down his face.

Oliver stepped back from the table and turned to Roy, “Please tell me you didn't cry like that when the Triad had you strung up in that shit hole?”

Roy smirked, “Of course not. What do you take me for?”

“I'm afraid we're going to have to do this the hard way Mr. Lee.” Oliver pulled out his hand gun from the holster under his suit jacket. He cocked the pistol and pointed it at the trembling man. “As I said, you are going to tell me what I want to know.”

“I can't tell you what I don't know! Please, please I don't kn-” A shot echoed through the basement. And Mr. Lee continued his panicked babbling, “You shot me in the fucking shoulder! Fucking Christ that hurts! You son of a bitch!”

Oliver pulled the hammer back on his revolver, chambering another round, “I believe you were telling me about Mr. Xiang?

“Okay, okay,” Mr. Lee's skin was turning waxy, sweat dripping down his face, blood pouring from his shoulder, “I know him, I do.”

“And?”

“He brings girls to the hotel. Foreign usually, the last group was from Laos. Then he puts them to work.”

“And?”

“That's it! That's all I got, I swear. Please Queen I do-”

The rest of his begging was cut off by a second shot ringing through the space. Oliver took off his blood spattered coat, and set it aside, then holstered his pistol. “Leave his body in the warehouse where we found you. As a warning.”

Roy nodded and swiftly began gathering a tarp and other supplies.

Oliver turned and retreated to his private office up the metal stairs.

“Do you want to tell me what's going on?” Diggle had been watching the scene from the office window. “You don't usually go off like that. Usually you can keep your head in the game.”

“I'm sick of this bullshit John. I needed answers a week ago.” He settled himself behind the desk.

“Is it because of what he said? About the new whor-” Oliver jumped to his feet, striding back to the window. “So that is it.”

“What's it?” Oliver ground out.

“Felicity,” he said it with surety.

Oliver rounded on him, eyes flashing, “What makes you think th-”

“You have been on a razor's edge for a while now. Ever since that girl came into your home. You've been snappy at me, and Raisa, even your sister. And now it's starting to effect how you work. I know how you operate, man. Put the Queen patented moves on her and she'll fall into your bed in no time.”

“No,” Oliver grit out, his back tight, focusing on the clean up below so he wouldn't punch his best friend in the face.

“Don't tell me you don't feel attracted to her,” came John's disbelieving scoff. Oliver knew his silence was more telling than any words could be. “Is it because she works for you now? Because you have had way more inappropriate workplace relations than 'sleeping with the IT girl'.”

Oliver stepped closer to the floor to ceiling windows, jaw clenching. 

“Are you waiting for this thing with Roy to blow over?” John continued, “I hate to break it to you, but in your line of work there's always going to-”

“We already have,” his voice was low, palm pressed flat against the plate glass.

John laughed then, “So then what the hell's the problem?”

Oliver didn't know, but he was damn sure going to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written anything smutty before, so I hope this was worth the long tease! The last chapter will be up on Tuesday!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end of this ride guys! Thanks for reading along and making this a great experience. 
> 
> If you want to prompt me on tumblr feel free!

Felicity hadn't gone back upstairs since she'd taken her walk of shame to the laundry room shower earlier that morning. She'd stayed longer then strictly necessary under the shower-head, but it felt to good to get out. After her night with Oliver, she was sore in places she wasn't expecting. After showering, she'd tried valiantly to cover the hickies and red marks on her throat with concealer, but in the end opted for a high necked blouse and hiding in the computer room instead. 

_I can't believe I- I've been doing so well at just avoiding him. And he's my boss! It's not a conventional working relationship, I know. But I'm pretty sure I've workplace harassed him now. And Thea and Raisa were just telling me how little he sleeps and how stressed he's been. And I know he's on those pain pills because of that 'altercation' at Verdant. And that's obvious because who in their right mind would... because no one ever has... with me? Maybe this was easier when we were just 'cold' all the time._

She slumped forward and put her head on the desk, staring mindlessly into the middle distance. 

“I'm heading to the market,” Raisa called down the stairs, “there's a plate for you in the fridge when you want lunch.”

“Thanks,” Felicity called back up.

“It's no problem, there's just one thing.”

“Whatever you want Raisa.”

“Quit moping.” Then the door slammed shut. 

If there's one thing that can be said for Felicity Smoak, it's that she wasn't a moper. She squared her shoulders and turned on her monitor. 

Several hours later she felt close to a break through. She was bent over her tablet, flicking her eyes between the little machine in her hands and the information processing on the screens in front of her. 

“What have you been up to?” He stood slightly behind her, his arms crossed.

She jumped in her chair, wincing as the motion twinged a muscle in her thigh. _God, he's like a cat._ Felicity turned to him, triumphant, and handed him the tablet, “You weren't the only one with a busy day at the office.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up, “How would you know a thing about my day at the office Ms. Smoak?”

She spun back towards the keyboard, her voice playful, “Water-cooler gossip, the tale telling around this place is terrible.”

“And what tales are they telling?” _He doesn't seem to mind the teasing. Maybe he isn't super-upset? Could still be the painkillers._

She waved her hand flippantly in front of the monitor, “The usual, handsome businessman by day, scandalous playboy by night. A trail of broken hearts, empty vodka bottles, and million dollar deals, same old same old.”

He placed the tablet on the edge of her table. When he spoke again all the levity had left his voice, “Is that why you've been avoiding me, and this morning you-”

Felicity leapt from her chair as if scalded and circled to the other side of the room, putting as much space between them as possible. “I'm sorry about last night, I was so, _so_ out of line. You were obviously in not a great place with that call to Dmitri, and the injury, and the stress, and I-” she cleared her throat nervously, “and I didn't handle the morning after very well, but in my defense, I've never had a morning aft-”

He took a step towards her then, still out of arm's reach, “Do you regret it?”

She inhaled slowly, _confession time_ , “I deeply regret how I took advantage of you last night.”

She could hear the laughter in his voice when he replied, “Is that why you took off when I tried to take advantage of you this morning?”

It took her a second to parse his meaning and then, “Oliver!” Her cheeks flushed hotly, and she rushed to cover them with the palms of her hands. And then he was there, in front of her. And she was there in his arms. Felicity lifted her hands from her face and placed them around his neck. He leaned in gliding his nose along her nose and settling his mouth over hers in a kiss.

“There's nothing being taken here Felicity, remember?” he whispered against her ear and she could only vaguely recall their earlier conversation. “It's later, you know,” he continued on in a conversational way. “Someone promised me a second base make out.”

Felicity moaned in response as all other higher thought had apparently fled. He continued to kiss and bite at her lips while deftly unbuttoning her blouse to where the top of her bra peeked out. He squeezed her breast in one massive hand and bent his neck to mouth along her cleavage.

For her part, Felicity could do little but thread her fingers through his hair and sag against him. She was quite content with this as well, until she heard a ping. She was also fairly determined to ignore this ping (as Oliver had just pulled her bra cup out of the way and he had licked his way from her cleavage to draw one of her nipples into his mouth) but then she remembered what this ping was. She jerked away from Oliver, (his mouth disengaging from her breast with a wet pop) and while tucking herself back into her bra she darted towards her desk.

“I figured it out Oliver,” she said breathily looking at the massive screens.

“Are you going to make a habit of running out on me?” He growled from across the room, where she had left him hard and wanting.

She gaped at him, “No, but this is for Roy.”

He stalked to her, circling like she was prey, “I don't think Roy would give one good God-da-”

“But it's my fault. This latest data packet confirms it,” she pushed the tablet back into Oliver's hands, “Mr. Tao Xiang, AKA Tommy Johns.” She pulled up the first clear photo of Mr. Xiang the police had taken. 

“How did you-”

Felicity shrugged jerkily, “He uses his Anglo name to run his legitimate business, like the storage units. The last time he used his Chinese name as his everyday name was in High School, I found his year book online,” she poked twice at another file, zooming in on his face. “Obviously, he's younger there, but-”

“It's him,” Oliver confirmed grimly.

“My brothers' friend. Apparently notorious smuggler and member of the Triad.” She sniffed then, “After everything that happened, all my mother did to keep them away from crime, they fell away from the Bratva, and in with the Triad.”

“Felicity,” his voice had taken on a sad quality she wasn't used to hearing, “they didn't.”

She set the tablet back on her desk, “Don't try and console me with lies Oliver. I think it's pretty obvious they are mixed up with the Triad.” She hated the way the tears were burning in the back of her eyes.

“No, Felicity, I mean,” Oliver inhaled and pulled her into his embrace, “she didn't keep them out of the Bratva. They've been running with a protection crew since they moved here.”

She stiffened in his grasp, “How on Earth is that-? And you didn't tell me? How could you possibly-”

He held her more tightly in his arms, “That's what my call to Golitsyn was about.”

“Dmitri!” she shouted at him, struggling against him as tears tracked down her face, “You called Dmitri Golitsyn! But you couldn't tell me?”

“I didn't know what you would-” she heard him inhale long and slow, “I wanted to make sure the time was right.”

She braced her hands against his shoulders and looked up (and up) into his eyes, “My brothers are monsters, Oliver. How can I keep you safe when I don't know what you're up against?”

“Felicity, this isn't your fight.”

“You're wrong, it is,” she rolled on her toes and pressed her nose into the side of his throat. “Raisa's been telling me since I got here, I'm your family now.” She felt him relax into her. A small measure of tension leaving his powerful frame, even as his hands clenched at her back. She pulled back slightly, an arms length between them. “We need to get this out.” She handed him the tablet. He nodded, his mouth a grim line, and he headed up stairs. 

She re-buttoned her blouse and returned to her computers. _Now I just need to figure out The Pair and how that connected to Mr. Xiang's insurance policy, and why he took and tortured Roy._

And as much as she hated to admit it, the only connection that made sense was her original guess. _Me._

Diggle hadn't seen Oliver this wound up in a long time. 

He tore out of the Verdant private office (where he was using his contacts at the club to find information on AKA Mr. Johns) as soon as his phone rang, and now he was pacing back and forth out in the alleyway in front of the Bentley. He was alternately cursing in English and shouting into the phone in Russian. 

John still couldn't believe it. 

Felicity's brothers were running with both the Bratva and the Triad. They'd forced her into their Triad bosses' shitty apartment building and then stolen all her money. Then some Triad hooligan had snatched Roy off the street and left him for dead in that shit hole as a warning. For what though? No one was sure. He was just damn glad Felicity was back at the house and working on it. 

She had a calmness about her that made Digg very happy. She certainly balanced out-

“Он лжец, то почему вы не контролируете его?!” Oliver. He slammed his fist against the hood of the car and shoved the phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

“Golitsyn?” Digg was pretty sure of the answer.

“He says there's no way Balashov knows. That this has to be just between her brothers and Xiang.”

“If Balashov's that ignorant of what goes on under his nose,” Diggle opened the rear door so Oliver could slide into the car, “maybe it's time for him to retire?”

Oliver nodded grimly and settled himself rigidly into the back seat. John could read the lines of tension all across his boss' face. All of their usual information sources were coming up dry for this. No one knew about any Pair of anything that Xiang had been trying to move. Nobody knew anything about any Insurance Policy, and nobody knew where Mr. Johns was.

“Do you think we should hit Nickerman's?”

Diggle caught Oliver's gaze through the rear view mirror as he pulled away from Verdant. “Do you think that'll help?”

Oliver raked a hand through his already mused hair, “I don't know what'll help, John. I feel like I'm drowning here.”

John's phone pinged then. “It's Felicity, she says she found something, but she doesn't want to send it through the phones.”

Oliver sat a little straighter at that, “Let's go home, then.”

Felicity stared in mute horror at her screen, she'd already summoned Digg home with a text, but it was still a shock. Of all the possibilities, of all their off the wall ideas, she had never imagined this. 

Her brothers were the Invaluable Pair. 

They'd been selling Bratva secrets to Mr. Xiang. He'd taken their information and started calling hits out on Bratva associates, robbing Bratva businesses, and killing Bratva cops. They'd taken her money as protection profits for their boss, to stay in his good graces, and then sold all of them out to the Triad. Felicity paced around the computer room growing more and more agitated with each second. _If they sold out the Bratva, it obviously wasn't for money because they had my money, her stomach rolled at the only other answer, it must be for drugs._

Her phone pinged then, and she leapt to answer it, “Hello?” her voice sounded strangled and unsure.

“Felicity.” _Sasha._

“I can't talk to you,” the tears were climbing up her throat.

“You had to do this didn't you? You couldn't just do as we asked? Oh, no! Not smart, perfect little Felicity! You had to move, didn't you? And now he knows, and he's so pissed. He's about to lose his shit.”

“What are you talking about?” her voice was frail.

“Our friend, Tommy, he had us put you in that place for a reason. A good one. But you fucked it up for us. And now he's pissed. He says you have to move back in today, or he'll go after Mom. He'd do it too, you don't know who he is bu-”

“I know who he is,” Felicity's voice was stronger now, “he's Xiang.”

Sasha sounded surprised, “Well then, you know what he's capable of. Think about Mom,” he was begging her now. Felicity did think of her mother, and what Xiang had done to Roy.

“Ok.”

“Yeah? Meet us out front of your building. Don't fuck this up for us, ok?” Then the phone disconnected. 

Felicity slowly pulled on her coat and scarf and mittens. Her movements hampered by the terror coursing through her. 

_I wish Oliver were here. I wish Digg were here. I wish I was calm enough to think of a plan._

She purposely put her phone in her inside coat pocket and very slowly made her way to the front door and out into the portico.

 _They'll figure it out, they have to._

“May I have my car brought around, Ben?” Felicity struggled to keep her voice even. She was surprised when Ben acquiesced immediately. The house probably hasn't been on lock down since Roy came home. Moments later, her little red commuter car pulled up to the steps. Ben stepped out and left it idling. “Thanks,” she said giving him the best smile she could force, as she slid into the driver's seat and pulled away. 

_Think about Mom._

_Think about Mom._

_Think about Mom._

_Don't be afraid._

_Don't think about Oliver._

_Think about Mom._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
Oliver was standing behind his desk in his private office. Teeth clenched, his body vibrating with barely suppressed power and the rage that fueled it.

Ben stood across from him, looking terrified in his baggy suit, “She didn't tell me where she was headed Mr. Queen, she just asked for her car.”

“And you didn't think to ask her?”

Ben flinched away, “The house isn't on lock-down anymore Sir, and there were no special instru-”

“Get the fuck out of my sight,” Oliver growled. Ben fled, almost crashing into Digg in his haste. Oliver sat heavily in his chair. 

She had left. It was true. Of her own volition, no less. But Oliver knew in his soul she was coerced. He cradled his head in his hands as horror after horror washed through his mind. He couldn't stop imagining what was being done to his sweet, gentle Felicity. “Where could she have gone, John?”

“Roy's checking her computer now. He thinks he'll have it figured out pretty soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Oliver leapt to his feet and began to pace the room like a caged tiger, “If only we had a tracker on her car.” _Why didn't I put a tracker on her car? I put them on all the other cars!_

Diggle's mouth dropped open, “We do. Her cell phone.”

Oliver fumbled his phone from his pocket in his haste to switch his tracker on, as Digg apparently did the same. After a split second to orient themselves with the map, they both bolted from the house, Digg to the Mercedes, Oliver to his motorcycle. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*  
On her second trip around the block Felicity caught sight of Ilya and Sasha. She pulled to the curb and turned her flashers on while Ilya hopped into the back seat and Sasha climbed into the front.

“Ok,” Felicity kept her hands firmly on the wheel and tried to keep her voice steady, “I'm here what is it th-”

“Don't you ever shut up!” Ilya shouted from the back seat. Felicity glanced at him in the rear view mirror and could see him banging his head over and over again into the palm of his hand, his mouth in a tight grimace, his skin waxy and pale. “Why do you always talk so damn much?”

Sasha pointed one ragged finger nail out at the street, “Come on we got to go, let's go, let's go.”

“You said I had to come back to the apartment.”

“And now we're saying you have to go somewhere else first,” Sasha continued shaking his finger at the traffic, “go, go.”

“Where do you want me to go?”

“He hurt your friend, you know that?” _Roy_ “He'll hurt you too! You got to go, go!” Sasha was sounding frantic. 

“Shouldn't you tell me what you need first?” Felicity jumped then, when she felt something cold and metal press against the back of her neck.

“Just do as Sasha says, Felicity. Just fucking drive the fucking car.” Ilya had pressed a gun against her head.

“Of- of course Ily,” she turned the flashers off and took a shaky breath, as Sasha directed her into traffic. 

Her first thought after regaining consciousness was, “Why do these sorts of things always seem to happen in abandoned warehouses?” Followed by, “Dear God, how much did they give me?”

When she had pulled her car out front of the aforementioned abandoned warehouse, Ilya had forced her from the car at gun point before Sasha pushed up her coat sleeve and injected her with something. And as jittery as he seemed, Ilya's gun never wavered.

Now she was tied to a chair and her brothers were standing off to one side shuffling their feet, looking apprehensive and eager. 

Their apprehension was easy to understand, they had allied themselves with a dangerous man, a rival to their boss. But their eagerness was explained when Mr. Xiang stepped into view, looking much as he had that night outside her building.

“She's here,” Ilya blurted out, “just like we promised.”

“And here's your payment, as agreed,” he tossed a small pack of pills at them and her brothers scrambled for their drugs, crawling through the muck on the floor of the building to get at them.

“That's your insurance?” she choked out, still half drugged, “You got them off of heroin and onto vertigo?”

“Oh no, my dear Miss Smoak, the vertigo was merely a happy coincidence. It kept them desperate. So desperate they were willing to do what ever I wanted. Money, secrets, feeding the Bratva convenient lies.”

“So why take Roy?” she lifted her head feeling stronger, the effects of the sedative wearing off, “What purpose did that serve?”

“I wanted to send a message Miss Smoak,” he crossed to her then, “and the message was obviously received.”

“I don't think it-”

He'd moved behind her, threaded his fingers into her low pony tail and tugged experimentally on her hair, “You, Miss Smoak. You see your brothers' felt something many traitors end up feeling. Guilt. They felt so _terribly_ guilty betraying the memory of your father, and your grandfather by selling out their brethren in the Bratva to the Triad. They wanted to tuck tail and run, confess. But they couldn't, because I had you. Insurance.” 

He whispered in to her ear, “They know what I do for a living Miss Smoak, they'd steal from you, and lie to you, but even they wouldn't want me happening to you. What I could do to you.” He pulled on her head where he had his fist around her hair and forced her gaze to where her brothers were sitting in filth and swallowing handfuls of the vertigo. “But it won't matter for much longer.”

Within seconds Sasha started to cough, and Ilya had doubled over in obvious distress. They were both groaning low, clearly in pain. “Oh God, no,” Felicity gasped, “what have you done to them?”

“I didn't do this to them,” Xiang whispered into her ear, “they have done this to themselves.” Felicity closed her eyes, she couldn't turn her head because of Xiang's tight grip in her hair. “There,” he stepped in between Felicity and her brothers' bodies, “just another unfortunate casualty of the drug scourge in this city.” He bent forward and pulled a knife from inside his boot when-

“Hold it right fucking there.” _Oliver_. He had a gun leveled at her captor's head.

Xiang lowered himself slowly into a crouching position next to where Felicity was still tied to the chair, his arms raised to his shoulders, knife clasped lightly in one hand. “Why if it isn't Mr. Queen, Bratva Captain. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Let her go.”

“No, no, no,” he shook his head, a small smile on his face, “I said 'To what do _I_ owe the pleasure'. I think you'll find that Miss Smoak is for my pleasure.” 

Felicity grimaced and turned away, determined to keep her eyes shut. That lasted less than it took her to draw a single breath, because without warning she felt the press of a knife blade against her throat. 

“Oh yes,” Mr. Xiang continued, his voice low with warning, “I think we see how it is now, don't we Oliver?” She saw Oliver's jaw tick in irritation. “My, how the mighty are brought so low. For the affections of some silly woman. I have you in my palm now, don't I Oliver? Drop your gun,” Mr. Xiang went on conversationally. She gasped as he pushed the knife more firmly against her throat, “slowly, then kick it to me.” 

She could have cried when she saw Oliver drop his weapon. She closed her eyes to hold back her hot tears when she heard it skitter across the floor of the massive warehouse. She couldn't hold back her sob when she heard the gun shot, echo-y and close, and Mr. Xiang released his hold on her hair. She struggled sluggishly against strong hands when she was cut from and then pulled out of the chair. Her tears splashing against her coat collar. _No, no_ , she wailed internally, _not-_

“Felicity!”

“Oliver?” his name was less his name and more like an exhale with a suggestion of a word attached to it. “How in the world-” He put a steadying arm around her shoulder, blocking her from the view of Mr. Xiang and her brothers. 

Oliver's eyes were dark as his hands skimmed over her body through the bulk of her coat, “What did they do to you?”

“How did you-? I heard a shot-”

“Felicity,” he cradled her face gently in his huge hands, thumbs wiping her tears away, “I need to know what happened.”

She closed her eyes, shame filling her, “I talked to my brothers.” She swallowed thickly as his hands trailed down her neck and across her shoulders, “I know you said not to, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to answer the phone, I thought it was John. They threatened my mom, Oliver. The said Xiang would hurt her like he hurt Roy, and I- I know she wasn't the best Mom, but she's,” Felicity sniffed and looked at her brothers slumped and lifeless forms, “she's all I have.”

“She's not all you have, Felicity,” his lips ghosted along her cheek, “you have us now.” She saw his jaw flex. ”But I need to know. What did they do to you?” his voice had gone low, dangerous. His hands gripped her arms right above her elbows.

“Nothing,” she winced slightly, “I'm fine.”

“You're not fine,” he growled pushing up her coat sleeve. “Did they inject you with something?”

“Yeah, but it's worn off now, I'm fine.”

“No,” Oliver repeated, “You are not fine. You were taken from me, from the safety of our home, and brought here to watch your brothers die. No one's fine after that.”

“You see people die all the time,” she breathed out, hands starting to tremble.

He leaned in, his mouth at her hair line, “It's different. I'm not good like you are, Felicity.” He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her against his side.

She leaned into him taking a moment to gather herself, when she heard heavy footsteps running through the warehouse, she froze. Frantically clutching at Oliver's sweater.

“Thank God you can always rely on a bad guy to monologue, it took me forever to line up that shot.” _John._ Felicity's shocked look must have said volumes. John threw his arm around her other shoulder and helped steer her from the building, “Thea told me she told you the house rule: Somebody always comes with you.”

~*~*~*~*~*

Felicity spent the next three days being coddled and pampered. But on the cusp of day four she was done with it. 

She'd been allowed to resume sleeping in her basement room. Thea had told her that first night when she got home. “Oliver has some... Triad business to see to tonight and tomorrow, and that you probably wouldn't want to be alone up there.” 

Felicity nodded in understanding, “That's very sweet of him.”

Thea smiled back, “He can be kind of sweet when he wants to.”

He could, apparently, also be kind of an asshole.

For the next three days Felicity was encouraged by Raisa to stay in bed in her basement sanctuary recuperating and by _encouraging_ that of course, meant plates of blinis, bowls of soup, and mug after mug of tea. 

She watched movies and terrible television on her new laptop (“From Oliver,” Thea had said, nodding seriously.) and talked and laughed with Thea and Roy, and shared all the pastries too. 

She got a very profuse and sincere apology from Ben. (Which she insisted didn't need to be given.)

And she got daily reports from Digg about Oliver's encounters with both the Triad and the Bratva higher ups. But this was only because Oliver had refused to come and see her himself. And when she sought him out (creeping around the main floor to try and corner him in his office) he was like a damn ninja. She'd blink, and he'd be gone. 

But she'd had days to think about it, and now she had a plan.

She put on her jammies and crept out of the hallway and into the foyer, she could hear his low voice in his office. _Perfect._

She ran up the nearly pitch black kitchen stair case and stole into his darkened room like a thief, flung herself towards the bed, and burrowed under the blankets. And she waited. She wasn't sure how long until she was there, but she blinked awake when he flipped on the lamp by the bed.

“Felicity? What are yo-”

“Why are you avoiding me?” she pushed herself into a sitting position. _Go big, or go home, Smoak._

“I'm not avoi-”

“Oh, I see,” she pressed on, “so now in addition to avoiding, we are also lying! Also bribery with electronics! Anything else I should add to the list?”

“Felicity-”

“Don't you _dare_ start with the growling, Oliver Queen!” She folded her arms across her chest and set her jaw defiantly. 

“Are you going to let me get a damned sentence out?” he stalked around to her side of the bed.

“That depends,” she shouted back, rolling to her knees, the blankets pooling around her hips, “on what nonsense you have to say!”

He slammed his palm against the head board, pressing her back as he leaned into her, “What is it you want me to say Felicity?” his voice thick with sorrow. She drew her hand up to sit on his shoulder, her mouth opened once and closed again. “How about I start with 'I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe.'” He pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply. “Maybe 'I understand if you want to leave now.'” He swallowed thickly, “Maybe 'You should get away from me while you have the chance'.”

“No,” she wound her fingers tentatively around his neck, raising up to press her cheek into his, “None of those things are true Oliver. You did keep me safe, and there's no place I'd rather be than right here.”

He tipped across her, flopping onto his back in the middle of the bed, and pulled her into his arms. “But if you want to-”

She pushed up onto an elbow, “If I want something from you Oliver Queen, you will be the first to know.”

He quirked an eyebrow up at her, “Is that so?”

“Yes that is so.”

He levered his body up leaned over her, and pressed his knees on either side of her legs, his forearms on either side of her shoulders, trapping her in the blanket, “Is there anything you want now Felicity?” his voice had gone growly again.

“I'd love to sleep with you again.” His mouth twisted in obvious amusement waiting for her dismay at her unintended double entendre. She pushed up and brushed her lips along his before whispering out, “That's what I meant to say Oliver.”

He pulled back onto his knees, “Is that my t-shirt?” He skimmed his hands along her waist under the blankets.

“Yep,” she wriggled in it playfully, “I was pretty hard up down in that basement, I had to take what I could get.”

“I hope you're not lowering that shirt's value by wearing it with those ratty old flannel pants of yours.”

“Nope.”

“Did Thea insist on buying you new ones?” He braced his hands on either side of her shoulders again and leaned in for a slow kiss.

She smiled coquettishly up at him, laying her hands against his chest to still his movements. “I'm not wearing any.”

“You're not wearing any pajama pants?”

“I'm not wearing anything else at all.”

Felicity had to laugh against his mouth as he tried to simultaneously kiss her, shove the bedding out of the way, and slide his clothes off. 

He managed to get his pants and boxers pushed out of the way and untangle her from the blankets. He rolled them both over and held her panting against his chest. He slipped his palms down her back past the hemline of his shirt so he could cup her ass and encourage her to grind down against him.

Felicity planted both of her hands in the middle of his chest and pushed herself up, exhaling shakily as his erection slid in between the slick lips of her cunt, trapping him between their bodies. He gripped her hips and jerked up, struggling to control his movements, bumping the thick head of his cock against her clitoris. 

She moaned deep in her chest and rocked against him, chasing the sensation. His hands briefly left her hips as he jerked his sweater over his head. She felt insistent tugging at the hem of the shirt she was wearing. He pushed it up, until it had cleared her breasts, but left it tangled under her arms. His hands were busy pinching and stroking at her nipples, and along the curves of her breasts.

Felicity leaned forward, breasts swaying. One hand steadying herself on his chest, the other reaching down to stroke languidly at his cock. “Condom?” she whispered. 

He turned then, and his abdomen flexing at the strange angle he had to hold to dig around in his night stand. He turned back to her, eyes flashing, the foil square held triumphantly in his hand. 

Felicity raised herself to her knees, hands on her thighs as he quickly rolled the condom on himself. He kept one hand on the base of his penis and the other against her waist encouraging her as she moved over top of him. He pulled on her hip to try and wordlessly convince her to hurry her pace. 

She centered him right on her opening, and rocked her hips once, twice coating him in her wetness, but not hurrying herself. 

He growled then, in frustration and warning, “Felicity.” It came out as a plea.

She sank on to him. Easier than the first time but still slow. When he was seated all the way inside of her she sighed and began rocking back and forth gently in his lap. Perhaps not the fastest build, but she was certainly enjoying the coiling sensations growing deep within her belly, the way he was stretching her, how tense he was becoming underneath her.

Oliver was less patient. He reached out to still her hips. She shifted her hands from resting on his chest to laying against his forearms. He lifted her slightly away from himself. Braced his feet flat against the bed and began to drive steadily up into her. 

He tilted her ass forward in his grasp and within a few strong pumps of his hips he was hitting her G spot with his cock on every up stroke. Felicity's nails dug into his forearms, her head lolled back, and her hips flexed mindlessly as she came around him. Oliver gathered her to his chest and kept himself between her thighs as he flipped them over. She was still shuddering out the last of her orgasm.

The rest of their fuck was glorious. Oliver kept his head down like a bull as he relentlessly pushed into her, chasing his own pleasure. His breath hot against her cheek and neck. One hand skimming over her belly and throat. His fingers playing at her nipples, and against her clit. The other buried in her hair. Holding her as he worked his mouth along the tender skin of her throat.

Felicity, for her part, did her best to tear his back to ribbons, her nails scoring against his shoulders and the scars at the small of his back, as she switched between driving herself closer and faster towards her end, but only to then push and pull away as another orgasm would swamp her. 

When Oliver finally did come, his back and chest were sticky with sweat, and he still had his pants twisted around his ankles. He withdrew from her with an exhausted smile which she returned, until she hissed at the feeling of him pulling out against her oversensitive flesh. He rose long enough to strip the remainder of his clothes away and dispose of the condom. He returned to the bed as she was struggling out of his shirt.

“Leave it,” he whispered, stilling her hand with his much larger one.

She settled into the crook of his arm as he flipped off the bed side lamp, and she slept. 

Safe. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*

Police After Action Report  
Location: Warehouse, 4500 Block of Green St.  
Subjects: One (1) Known Triad Associate Elijah Smoak. One (1) Known Triad Associate Alexander Smoak. One (1) Known Triad Associate Tao Xiang, AKA Tommy Johns

It appears that these deaths are drug and gang related. Perhaps this signals a shift in the local Triad organization.

Please forward all case notes to Detective Lance for further review if any is deemed warranted.

No further action is to be taken at this time. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Nicoli Balashov was many things. Merchant, philanthropist, father, Bratva Captain. But what he was not, was a fool.

He knew what it took to be a Captain. He knew what you needed the most were good men to work for you, and a loyal wife at your side. He also knew he was getting close to retirement. And while he liked Orlov and Golovkin, he knew they didn't have what it took to lead the Bratva in Starling City. So, that left Queen to pick up the reins. And he could do it too, he was fierce, and strong. But he was also down on two counts, not a legacy, and not Russian. 

He pinched his mouth into a grim line. He really hoped the щенок got his act together, and soon. There was a shore house Nicoli had purchased six months ago, and he really wanted to make use of it.

He rifled through the papers on his in-box on his desk in the tiny office above his grocery store. He set the receipts and invoices to the side to be filed, placed two racehorse tips in an envelope for his Boevik, and read (then re-read) the three phone messages his secretary had left on his blotter.

The first was from Donna Smoak, widow of the first man he worked for in the Bratva. Nicoli had been nineteen and out of Yugoslavia for less than a month when Mel brought him into the organization. 

_Thank you so much for keeping me up to date on my children, Nicky. It's hard when they're so far away. I've contacted Mr. Golitsyn. He says he'll take care of it. Felicity is in good hands now._

The second was from Mr. Diggle, Boevik to Oliver Queen:

_The accounts and wire transfers you requested we look into (belonging to a Mr. Xiang) have been dealt with. Mr. Queen thanks you for alerting him to the situation._

The third was from his boss, Dmitri Golitsyn:

_Mel Smoak's daughter, Felicity, is now a permanent part of Oliver Queen's household. You are no longer under any obligation to his children, or his widow._

“Ivan,” he called out into the tiny hallway outside his office.

“Yeah, Boss?” a boy, no more than sixteen, poked his head through the door.

“Tell my wife to start packing up a bag. I think we'll be spending the weekend at the shore.” The young man nodded and started to back down the hall, “Oh, and Ivan?” he shouted after the boy, “Tell her to get her good jewelry out of the safety deposit box,” he ran his fingers over the phone messages and smiled, “I think we'll be going to a wedding soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. “He is a liar, why do not you control it?”  
> 2\. puppy


End file.
